Voyage of the Argonauts
by flawedesires
Summary: Percy and Annabeth are finally reunited, after much frustration, sorrow, and well, being clueless. Now the 7 demigods sail their way to Greece, among treacherous waters and big bad immortals that are after more than just their souls.
1. Cold

**I'm sure you guys have noticed a lot of these out there, so I just decided to contribute to the growing archives of this topic. Thanks, guys.**

**

* * *

1/Annabeth**

Cold.

That's how she feels. That's how everything feels. The air, the food, the waters. Her heart. It feels like ice. She doesn't show it, of course. She knows she can't show vulnerability. Leaders are strong, brave, impassive.

She's not any of those things. Not without him, at least.

She spends most of her time filling the space he left, giving orders, helping to build, directing her peers. They are obedient, but she knows they wish it wasn't her. She does too. She's often spotted holding herself, and they all know it's because she wishes he was.

They all silently mourn him. But none as much as her.

She can't sleep. She knows that if she does, she'll only have nightmares anyway. She spends her waking moments sitting near the water, praying and hoping that maybe, just maybe, he'll wash up onto shore, to be with her once more.

The others worry, not only about him, but about her. The absence of her usual spirit bothers everyone around her.

So they search. They scour the country, every state, every bush, every 7-Eleven, hoping to discover him. She knows the gods don't want it that way. They never want it the simple way.

She hates that they took him away from her. She hates that they won't speak to her. Most of all, she hates and despises and loathes the fact that she might lose him again.

First the lightning bolt, then the fleece, then the General, then the labyrinth, even the Lord of Time, and still the Fates won't let him be.

She has a spark of hope now. A ship, taking months to build. To sail across the waters—the waters he loves so much, to find him. She'll find him. If it takes every bit of life in her body, she won't let him be stupid enough to get himself killed again.

Despite the others' protests, she uses all her skill, all her time, on the ship, dubbed appropriately the_ Argo II._ She hates the idea that she'll be forced to go on another adventure. She's tired of being in constant danger.

No, that's not it. She doesn't want to go, because he's not there. To her, an adventure isn't worth venturing without him travelling alongside with her.

She stands silently at the prow. She's holding herself again. She misses the warmth of his arms around her, and wishes her own cold ones, wrapped around her torso, were his. She wishes the breeze that teases her hair, was his breath. She wishes the drop of water on her cheek was his lips.

Her brother watches her worriedly. She flinches when his hand lands on her shoulder. He asks if she's alright. It takes her a few moments to respond. No, she's thinking. No, I'm not alright. But she answers she's fine. She turns her back on him, goes back to staring pointlessly into the sea, cursing the god in the waters for letting him go.

The shore they wash up on is nothing but hostile. Its form flickers, from an air force recruit building to what she knows is truly there. She's the first one out of the ship, dropping into knee-high water, soaking her jeans, but she doesn't care. She ignores the calls behind her, her friends, her siblings, the people she's known for years. They know, though she doesn't show it, she would've charged through the gates if they hadn't caught her.

She hates that the one holding her back is the girl she'd been so cruel to once upon a time. The knowing green eyes stare into the gray as she whispers words the other doesn't listen to.

They approach cautiously. The stone gate is flanked with walls so secure not even a bird would breach them. Countless bows, swords, and menacing eyes bore down on the Greeks as they walk closer.

She stands at the frontlines. Her friends throw her warning glances; they know she's bottling up her feelings inside. They know she could explode at any second. She doesn't seem to feel their eyes on her. She's staring forward, calling up in Latin she's learned, commanding them to open the gates.

Yes, she's cold. Yes, she waits for him. Yes. She's crumbling inside.

But when she finally sees him, after months of holding in sobs, after countless punches into walls, after her heart breaking, she stares. She doesn't run to him, she doesn't kiss him impulsively, she doesn't pull him into her arms, like she so desperately needs to.

He's pushing his way through the crowd, shouting to hold their stances, don't fire, see what they want first. He stands in front of her now, the sea green eyes she's loved so much sweeping over them curiously. He looks back at a dark shape in the shadows, as if permission.

The figure nods stiffly.

He smiles at her politely, holding out his hand and saying the most devastating sentence she's ever heard in her life:

"Hi, I'm Percy Jackson, praetor of the First Legion; who're you?"

The campers are staring at her fearfully, worried she might burst into tears, or punch him in the face, or perhaps stab him in the spot they all remember she knows.

But she doesn't.

As they finish shaking and drop their hands, she clenches hers, mentally threatening her eyes not to spill any of the secrets she's holding inside.

And, as he begins to ask her a question, her followers know only a small part of her mind is focusing on his words.

And the worst part?

As he waits politely for her answer, he has no idea how much she's breaking up inside.

"Annabeth Chase, daughter of Athena."


	2. Lost

**Wow, I opened my email and I got like 21 from FF. Most of them were favoriting this, so thanks :) A few were reviews, which I appreciate. You guys were begging me to write more, so I did :D Go crazy.**

* * *

**2/Percy**

Lost.

That's what he is.

He knows that almost instantly, experiencing that somehow familiar feeling as soon as his eyes open. He doesn't know how or when he's felt that before, but he recognizes it.

He doesn't know his surroundings, or the people he's sitting with. He can't remember who he is. He barely remembers his own name, let alone the kids who claim to be his friends. They laugh and joke around him, as if he's known them for a lifetime, but he doesn't know a single one of their names.

When his instructor changes shape into a monstrous animal with the body of a lion and the head of an eagle, he pulls a sword from his pocket instinctively, slicing the demon in two before he realized what he was doing. As the sword melts into a pen in his hands, he looks up into the stunned faces of those around him, and he knows he's done this before. He looks curiously at the small pen in his hand, and knows that this cheap ballpoint piece of plastic is way more than what it seems; a part of his past.

He clenches it in his fist. Then and there, he vows to himself; he _will_ find out who he is, if it has to take him a lifetime.

Things turn to a blur. He winds into a world that doesn't surprise him, one of unforgiving gods, merciless threats, and planned years of constant, difficult training. The unusual sense of déjà vu settles over him, confusing not only himself, but the others around him.

They tell him he's lucky; the *Parcae must like him. Somehow, he's shaking his head before the words are out of their mouths. Somehow, he knows the three rulers of life love to mess with him. He tells them they must hate him, and it suddenly strikes him he's said so before.

He's an outcast. He knows he's been one before. A freak, even among "his own kind." He knows he isn't supposed to be there. It feels wrong, wearing the purple shirt, being offered the strangely shaped golden sword, the dark tattoo all of them bear.

They question him constantly as they bustle him to a spot they call t_he Wolf House_. They ask him his last name, where he came from, how he survived for so long. He can't answer anything but _I don't know_. He begins to hate it.

They push him into a house-like ruin without answering any of his demands, throwing him half-worried, half-pleased looks, as if they hope he will never come out.

He faces the darkness. You've faced worse, he tells himself, though how he remembers that, he doesn't know.

The massive she-wolf waiting inside hardly gives him a glance before snarling. She hisses that he's an enemy, crouching as if she's prepared to spring. He protests, yet she's already growling.

A voice calls from the shadows, a girl with a black braid and dark eyes that are so familiar it sends pain shooting through his head.

The she-wolf, after threatening the girl a few times and essentially giving up to her, turns to him, reluctantly announcing his status as a "pup."

The girl leads him outside, beginning to explain his new life, but he isn't listening. He, somehow, already knows.

That night, they discover who he truly is. Son of Poseidon. Greek. Leader.

Their attitude turns threatened, suspicious, accusative. They demand answers, yet he has none. They argue over whether to dispose of him. The _Aye_ vote majors over the _Nay_ and they swing for his throat.

He squeezes his eyes, thinking he would rather die at the hands of a vengeful lightning god than be executed by them. But, to their utter shock, the blade shatters upon reaching his skin.

They stare at him. He rises to his feet, looking calm and impassive, as if he's always known, and they watch him walk out.

He's given painful dreams, of curly-haired twins, a friend or two in black, an old man in a wheelchair. He knows, somehow, that they are part of his past, he just can't figure out how.

Not soon after, a deadly goddess of wisdom accuses him of attempting to kill her favorite owl. Even as he protests pointlessly, he knows that this has happened to him before.

He and two others set out to find the true murderer, going on a venture he knows he's done before. On this quest, he realizes why his memories are gone, and who is to blame for their absence. Upon his long-awaited return and a new revealed threat, he's rewarded with not only a position as leader, but the thing he now values most: answers of his past.

He searches for them.

He confronts the thief who still holds his memories hostage, but is refused passage to them. He argues.

He needs to know.

It's only on the day they spot intruders that his wish is finally fulfilled.

His soldiers are already there, pointing every potential weapon at the strange, yet so familiar demigods gathering outside. He's shoving through them before he knows it, shouting to hold their fire, don't kill anyone, wait! Then he reaches the front of the line.

She stands directly in front of him, with a Yankees cap sticking out of her jeans pocket, a blonde ponytail curling over one shoulder, a glittering bronze knife strapped to her arm.

She looks so familiar it makes his head hurt, but he shakes off the pain and looks back at his director. The wolf nods in reluctance.

Turning back, he makes himself smile, and holds out a hand. "Hi, I'm Percy Jackson, praetor of the First Legion; who're you?"

The moment the words are out of his mouth, he sees something in her eyes, a look that defies her expression declaring that she's never seen him before.

She grasps his hand firmly, then drops it after a while of shaking. She looks him directly in the eye. He watches her composure break once more, a miniscule trace of pure, heart-wrenching on her face, before she opens her mouth.

And, just for that second, he feels that same pain too, for a reason he would only discover later.

"Annabeth Chase, daughter of Athena."

* * *

**Okay, don't go psycho (hey I can spell that) on me while waiting for chap 3; I'm already on it.**

**~ Mia ~**


	3. Alone

**I love getting your favoritings in my inbox :) it makes me so happy :DD It makes me want to write more of this for you... Hm, getting ideas...**

* * *

**3/Annabeth**

Alone.

She's standing by herself.

She can't think anything but that she's never felt so forlorn before. Not when she ran away from home, not when her role model Thalia joined the Hunters, not when her hero Luke departed for the other side. The only thing she can truly compare it to is the day she discovered _he_ was missing.

She stands in the empty cabin of Minerva, where simply hours earlier she'd been welcomed inside with reluctant glances. She's staring into the empty space before her eyes, where the last glitters of the Iris-message lingers. Her foster-father Chiron is already gone, after telling her assurances that were meaningless to her.

Gods, she's so glad Piper whispered in Jason's ear and he gave her the day off. None of them believed she could get through another day of playing leader after what happened.

The creak at the door has her reaching swiftly for her knife, but when she realizes who it is, her battle façade falls.

"Sorry," he mutters. "I didn't know…I'll leave."

"No," she's calling before she can stop herself. "It's okay."

He turns back, looking anxious. He shifts from foot to foot nervously.

"You're Annabeth…right?"

That sentence breaks through her and rips into her heart so badly her lip quivers and her eyes sting. He doesn't remember. She should've known. How could she even dare to hope? She thanks the gods she's facing the bookshelf, that he can't see her face. Somehow her voice comes out steady and calm. "Yeah," she says quietly. "I'm Annabeth."

She grabs a book from the shelf and sits down, simply for something to do. She sighs. She doesn't know why she called him back; it only causes her more pain than she'd ever anticipated. She just needed to hear his voice, to make sure he knew her. Now, she knows he doesn't, and it breaks her heart, if you can break a heart that's already in pieces.

Looking up, she realizes he's still standing there, looking awkward. A small, bitter smile graces her lips. "You can sit, you know."

"Seriously?"

She raises an eyebrow, suddenly feeling as if she's gone back into the past. Oh, she misses how he made her feel. Longing tears through her like fire, urging in honeyed voices to just reach out and touch him. She has to rub her arms to keep herself in check. She's never hated distance as much as right now.

He sits in front of her awkwardly, resting his chin on his folded arms. He stares at her, as if he's studying her. She looks up. "What?"

He looks taken aback, as if he didn't even realize what he was doing. "Nothing." She looks down, he goes back to looking at her, his eyes going over every curl of her hair, every crease in her shirt.

"Can I ask you something?"

She glances up at him from beneath her eyelids. "You just did."

"Um…can I ask you a…uh, third something?" She smiles softly, and he takes that for a yes. "How do you know me?"

He doesn't remember. She takes a deep breath. "You were my friend." She bites her lip. It's all she can do not to jump and scream the truth at him. Oh, they were so much more than friends. She wishes he knew that.

He frowns. "What was I like?"

She pauses. Such a dangerous question. "You were brave," she says finally. "And stubborn. Stupid."

"How was I stupid?" he asks defensively.

She allows herself a tiny laugh. "You jumped off the Arch in St. Louis once."

"I did?" His brows draw together as he thinks. "I must be crazy."

"No," she disagrees softly, "no, you were a hero." He looks up at her curiously, and she realizes what she's said. She clears her throat, turning a page of her book nervously.

"What else did I do?" His question surprises her. She stops pretending to read and looks at him once more.

_You got me to be your girlfriend,_ she thinks, but she says, "You went to the underworld." An equal feat, as he'd once said.

"Really?"

"Yeah." _You saved me._ "You saved the world." She grits her teeth to prevent her voice from breaking.

"Really?" he's intrigued now, leaning forward. "How?"

She can't do this anymore. She leans back from him, unsettled by how close his green eyes are. She's unprepared for this. She blinks hard, pushing the tears away. "Go ask Rachel," she mutters. "Or Nico. They were there."

He seems so confused it's almost funny. "But I don't want to ask them. I'm asking you."

"Well, go to them," she says gruffly. Gods, she's suffocating. He's so close to her, hardly three feet away, and yet he's so far away. Her eyes are threatening her as he ducks his head, trying to look at them.

"I want _you_ to tell me," he says. "Remind me again—why do you hate me so much?"

She shakes her head. "I don't hate you."

"Could've fooled me."

It's like she's gone back in time. So she gives him the exact same answer. "Look…we're not supposed to get along. Our parents are rivals."

"Why?"

She bites her lip so hard she swears she tastes blood. In the name of Athena, she couldn't stay like this. She couldn't stand not telling him the truth. She slams the book closed. "Just…just go away, okay? Leave me alone!" It comes out so childishly no one would've believed she was the one who said it.

"What are you, five? I'm not your dad or something," he snaps, shooting out of his chair.

Her cheeks flame. He has no idea what nerve he hit. She turns to the door. He catches her arm instantly, yanking her back with so much force she bumps into him. Her glare (perfected by none other than Thalia Grace, thank you very much) softens his grip, but he maintains his hard look.

"You know more about me than you let on, don't you." It's not a question, and she knows that.

She scowls. "Sure, whatever, Seaweed Brain." His old nickname slips out of her lips like water, and puts a surprised look on both of their faces. He's dumbstruck, as if someone just smacked him between the eyes. She's turning her face away, the rebellious tear streaking a glittering track down her cheek; the pain is too much to pretend she doesn't feel it.

Her attempt to tug out of his hand brings him back to earth. "What's your problem?" he demands.

She holds in the retorts that are threatening to spill over. "You're my problem!" she shoots back. "You're stubborn, and impulsive, and you _suck_ at running and-and you're so _stupid!_"

Then she's gone in a flash of blonde hair, wrenching out of his fingers with such ease it leaves him wondering why she stayed in the first place.

* * *

**I liked writing this one specifically; I feel like it's realistic, and extremely Percabeth, don't you think?**

**~ Mia ~**


	4. Reunion

**Yay, I got so many emails from FF today! I'm doing the happy dance :) Okay, well, not right now, I finished it earlier, I'll do it again after I upload this. So, I have a surprise for you: I'm changing this from a four-shot into a five-shot. I feel like you guys deserve that :)**

* * *

**4/Percy**

Reunion.

That's the word flying among Greek and Roman heads, as many turn to watch Percy Jackson enter alone.

Confusion passes through the tables: _Why's he by himself? Where's she? Wasn't he supposed to remember?_ Eyes flicker from the Roman plates to the teenage demigod, each pair flashing him a different look. Curiosity. Puzzlement. Worry as well, but it's few compared to the rest.

Reyna Cambridge, daughter of Minerva, watches him with worry in her eyes. She is a girl he knows well, but he avoids her completely, walking a large circle around her. She opens her mouth to call him. A sibling put their hands on her arm, shaking their heads discouragingly. She turns away from him reluctantly. Glancing towards her, he notices for the first time that _she_ is absent.

He doesn't know why he cares, and the feeling of hurt and loneliness at her fault confuses him. Whenever he thinks of her, pain shoots through his head. Anything from his past does that to him. But true, it is a pain he would take gladly in trade for the answers she clearly knows.

He looks down at the cold plate set for him by the Ceres cabin. It holds no appeal for him. He swallows the hard bread and icy sauce in one bite, then downs the flat soda in another gulp. He's gone before anyone can glance up, his footfalls making no sound upon the floor.

He doesn't know where he's going, and as soon as that thought crosses his mind, he's furious with himself. He hates that he can't know anything. Damn the gods, he's swearing. They took so much from him, and they always want more. They stole his memories, his past, her. What else could they take?

He punches the nearest tree in anger, ignoring the whimper from inside.

He's reliving the encounter in the Minerva cabin again and again, trying to make sense of the mixed emotions running through his mind. He knows she's important to him, and vice versa. He knows she's a viable part of his past. He knows she has more information than she's willing to share, and he _definitely_ knows that he has strong feeling for her… But he doesn't know if they're positive or negative yet.

She looked so _pretty_ sitting there, resting her cheek on the base of her palm. He couldn't get over how perfectly her blonde hair curled around her shoulders, or the way her eyelashes made long shadows on her cheekbones when she looked down. He couldn't fathom the depth of her gray eyes. Most of all, he couldn't understand why he was drawn to her.

The way she laughed, even the bitter air it imposed, gave him a headache. The way she looked at him irritably—made him realize she'd done it a lot. The way she could hide her secrets from him, it made her seem so mysterious, and him even more confused.

He hates that he can't remember her. He hates that she won't tell him. Even worse, he hates that he seems to be the only one who doesn't know.

Someone calls her name.

He freezes mid-step, suddenly aware of his surroundings. He's at the beach, where the line of trees just hides him from sight. She's here? The girl he was just thinking of? The girl he's…he's always thinking of? He dares to look.

She's just standing there, in knee-high water, skipping rocks across the surface of the waves. It looks so Hollywood, it's almost funny, but her seriousness it keeps him from laughing.

"What do you want, Piper?"

Piper McLean, daughter of Aphrodite, is invisible compared to her. He nearly missed her presence, had she said nothing. She's standing with arms crossed, looking exasperatedly at the girl in the water.

"You didn't tell him," Piper states. It is no question.

She pulls her arm back and sends a river stone leaping across the water perfectly. "No."

Piper throws up her arms, clearly exasperated to her limit with the reply. "Why? What are you waiting for? He'll only—"

"Think he remembers?" Her tone is bitter. He doesn't like the way she's fingering the blade of her knife, as if she might stab something. "I want him to come back on his own, Piper. Not because he thinks he knows me."

The way Piper stamps her foot is so three-year-old he wants to laugh. "Aphrodite's on your side!" she protests.

"If there's one thing Aphrodite loves most, it's games," she says gravely. "I'm tired of games."

"She'll make sure you get your happy ending!" Piper insists. "Come on!"

"Fairy tales don't exist," she says bitterly. "Grow up, Piper. The shock won't be so bad if you do. And I'm not getting my happy ending."

"Gods!" Piper exclaims. "He remembers you! I know he does!"

"He doesn't want me anyway," she snaps. The rock she was about to throw disappears into the tide with a depressing plop. "I'm…I'm just a distraction from him saving the world." She says _saving the world_ as if it were the most terrible affliction alive.

_Not anymore, Annabeth._

He is so startled he almost fell out of hiding space. That voice. He knows that voice.

Her knife was already out. Seeing the bronze blade suddenly explodes in his mind—and he realizes he recognizes it.

"Gaea," she hisses.

The woman rising from the earth is but the size of Annabeth herself, dressed in a mud-stained gown that flutters in the breeze. Her eyes are closed. She smiles sleepily.

_Hello, daughters._

"We aren't your daughters," Piper says coldly. She grips her knife, Katroptis, in her fist.

_Ah, but you are._ The smile widens. _I am Mother of all, Piper McLean. Everything is my child._

"We don't care," Annabeth looks so ferocious it would scare a bull, yet the goddess does not seem moved. "Scram, Gaea, before I decide to stab you."

_Too late, my dear,_ the woman coos.

He's just about to jump into the fight when the ground rumbles suddenly, throwing him into a tree. His vision blurs, but he can see everything before him.

The sand beneath the girls' feet changes to quicksand, instantly pulling everything in reach towards the depths of Tartarus.

Piper's scream fills the air.

"Piper!" Annabeth shouts. She rips her feet from her shoes and makes a beeline for the daughter of Aphrodite, already waist-deep in sand, but the tide of the ocean grabs for her ankles, yanking her back.

She's on her stomach now, sinking her hands into the sand, trying to pull herself from the waves.

He tries to move, but realizes the earth is already sucking in his sneakers. He stabs at the tendrils of dirt aimlessly.

Gaea's laugh tortures his ears. _I have awoken him, daughter. The primordial lord of the seas, far before your puny Poseidon._

"You gods," Annabeth growls, kicking pointlessly at the water dragging her. "All you want is power. I hate you."

_Goodbye, daughter. He will see to you._

Annabeth's yell is swallowed by the tides as her head disappears underneath the water.

He's tearing through the sand and leaping in the water before he even knows it, not even checking to make sure Piper McLean was alive. The flurry of bubbles flees him at his command, the water instead propelling him towards her, sinking fast.

_You cannot save her, boy_. Gaea's voice chases him as he fights against the crushing pressure keeping him from her. _She is mine now._

_Screw you, _he hisses internally. _You aren't the only one with earthquake power._ A single thought and the earth is suddenly at war with itself, cracking and colliding and crumbling all at his orders and her powers.

He ignores it all, shooting downwards. He wraps his arms around her waist, and he can feel her chest heaving for air. Her fingers dig into his shoulders before slacking slowly. He's just about to give her a bubble of air when something else slams into him.

The creature is nothing like he's ever seen before. It's the size of a woolly mammoth, with teeth at least as long as his arm, eyes larger than his head, and a viciousness he would never have.

It's name flashes through his mind without him having to think about it. Cetus.

He's pulling the pen from his pocket instantly, his arm tightening around her waist as he quickly formed a bubble around her. Then he whirled to face Cetus.

* * *

**Okay, I have one announcement, and one question. Announcement first: So you know those shots where Percy said "Yes" to godhood and left Annabeth behind? Well, I read one this morning and I seriously punched my desk 'cause it was really bad, so I'm going to post one either earlier today or maybe tomorrow. Probably today. **

**And now for my question: Do you guys think I should change this from a shots-series to an actual real fic? One of my reviewers gave me the idea, and now I'm actually considering it. I'll put a poll on my profile, but, give it a thought. Still thinking...**

**~ Mia ~**


	5. Scared

**So, as you've noticed, this is no longer The Search, as it really wouldn't make sense where I'm going with this, but Voyage of the Argonauts. I didn't put a "II" in there, 'cause that would kind of ruin it. Anyway, s****orry about being late, here's your chapter.**

* * *

**5/Annabeth**

Scared.

That hated feeling is the only one coursing through her—besides adrenaline, that is. She can feel herself sinking fast, the water dragging her down, probably to the depths of Tartarus.

She's fighting without thinking, but even she knows she can't win. Her lungs are beginning to hurt. Her brain is begging her for air, but she can't give any. A deep, resounding, pure evil laugh echoes in her mind.

_You cannot win, girl. _

Her head is already weakening from the lack of oxygen, yet she can tell. This voice is not Gaea's. No, it comes from the water itself, so old and grave she realizes who it truly is.

_No._

Something tackles her waist. With a shock she realizes it's Percy, holding onto her as if she's the most important thing in the world. Had she been fully conscious, her heart would've leapt with joy. But by now her lungs threaten to burst. She can't help her fingers digging into his shoulder. Black spots invade her vision, and just as she begins to fade away, something rams them from behind.

She vaguely feels his arm tightening around her. She catches a clouded glimpse of something huge looming over them. Suddenly the arm is gone, and instead she's encased in a thin skin of air.

She sucks in the oxygen gratefully. Her chest heaves in relief whiles she coughs, but when she looks up she stops breathing again.

"No!" she yells.

He gets batted aside by Cetus's tail just as the words leave her mouth. He seems unaffected, slashing back. She doesn't realize she's banging her fist on the bubble until it wobbles dangerously.

She presses her palms to the thin, somehow unbreakable surface instead. "Percy!" she calls helplessly. "Stop!"

The bubble shifts suddenly, rippling slightly, as if the pressure around it is increasing. Crap, she thinks. She tries to shout through the thin skin of air. "Seaweed Brain! You idiot!"

He doesn't hear her. He's madly dodging every of Cetus's massive moves, his glowing sword making no dent upon the monster's hide. Her mind is racing against her heart as she watches, trying to think.

"The mouth!" she screams finally. "PERCY! STAB IT IN THE MOUTH!" She shouts so loud she's afraid the bubble would burst, but her words seem to reach him at last.

He shoots past a slashing flipper-like foot, jabs it in the belly, then disappears into its maw just as it opens.

Her hands curl into fists, her fingernails cutting sharply into her palms, but she hardly notices. She's praying to any god who will listen. _Please, bring him back. I can't lose him again._

The bubble ripples dangerously again—her eyes flash open, but the water's already invading, trying to find some kind of entrance in her to drown her with. Its pressure crushes her as invisible, massive hands close around her, dragging her down despite her flailing.

She's screaming, though even she can't tell. Her arms are reaching for the surface, already zooming away from her. The light's fading from above, the world around her already going dark. She's too aware of the trench yawning beneath her, waiting hungrily to swallow her into the soulless darkness of Gaea's domain—when a hand grabs hers.

Suddenly she's a tug-of-war rope, being pulled from both ends so hard she's afraid she might snap. The green eyes above her are flaming with determination, the shining sword stained with wispy blood, the hand enclosed around hers refusing to release its hold.

He yells once, a word that booms, even in the water, and suddenly they're shooting towards the sunlight.

They're both soaking wet when their heads break the surface; she's coughing uncontrollably, her arms clasped about his torso, him still yelling at the invisible, nearly-invincible force still residing below them.

She's gasping, her heart racing, but she knows it's not just from the lack of oxygen. He's _holding_ her. After _months_ of waiting and hoping he was still alive, he's _holding_ her. Her hands are moving across his back before she knows it, to the one spot only the two of them know, the one place that draws them together.

A shock goes through her fingertips, and he stiffens instantly, his eyes flashing down to her.

"Wise Girl…" he splutters. "How—?"

She's kissing him before he can finish his sentence, not even caring about the salt on both their lips.

* * *

"What happened?" Jason demands.

It's been only half an hour since Gaea's attack. The seven of them are sitting in the Romans' dining hall, both Annabeth and Piper wrapped in towels and clutching mugs of hot chocolate.

Piper looks shaken, even in Jason's arms. Sand still decorates her hair in a fine sheet, despite Jason's attempt to brush it off. She shudders now. "Gaea."

"She's getting stronger," Annabeth agrees. "Gaining allies."

"What about that creepy thing in the water?" Percy asks.

She smiles. He never listens. "That's what I just said."

"Nuh-uh! You said allies."

"That's what he is."

"Who?" Leo interrupts.

"Pontus," she whispers. The name is ancient and evil, even coming from her lips. "The boundless seas, the second husband of Gaea."

"Crap," Nico curses. "The summer solstice is too far away. We have to keep moving."

Piper shakes her head. "Chiron said only on the summer solstice, didn't he? That's not for another day."

"If we wait another day, Pontus might not be the only husband Gaea stirs," Nico says gravely. The mere thought sends shivers down everyone's spine.

Annabeth stands, dropping the towel into her place. Her clothes are still damp from the water, and she shivers slightly. "Leo, come on. We can do some last-minute walkthroughs before we launch."

"Are you sure?" Percy questions.

She pauses. Gods, she loves that hint of concern in his voice. He's worried about her. He remembers. The results of her kiss was amazing, sending her reeling. He _remembers_. _He_ _remembers_. The two-word phrase whirled in her mind happily, rejoicing with her.

She smiles now. "Yeah. I'll be fine." She beckons to Leo.

As they walk, he looks at her inquisitively. "What?" she asks.

He shrugs, returning his eyes to the copper wires in his hands. "Nothing," he responds. "You just look…happier."

She doesn't reply. Did she seem happier? She certainly felt it. She didn't feel at all like herself—in fact, she felt…better. Having him near her was like lifting the world off her shoulders, and she would know how that felt. She's so much lighter now, she's almost like an aura, a breeze.

"I do?" she says finally in a light tone. "Hadn't noticed." She smiles when he's not looking.

"Annabeth, can I ask you something?"

"Yeah."

"How do you get someone to love you like that?" His question, asked a few minutes afterwards, was so serious she turns to look at him.

She ponders that. "I don't know," she says truthfully. "It just happens." She frowns at him. "Why?"

He lets his shoulders rise and fall. "Don't know," he says. "Sometimes it kind of hurts, ya know? Watching Piper and Jason all lovey-dovey all the time, and Reyna and Jake… and now you and Percy. Kinda makes a guy feel lonely."

She doesn't know how to respond to that exactly, so she shrugs. "It'll happen, Leo. Flaming Valdez isn't destined to go through life without a girl or two." She bumps his shoulder playfully.

He laughs, but it's weak. "Whatever."

They're reaching the _Argo II_ now, and she can't help but marvel at its magnificence. The masterpiece it's taken months to build was made of beautiful olive wood, broad, strong masts, billowy cotton sails, and thick ropes as big around as her arm.

Leo and she had used one of Daedalus's ideas for a self-rowing mechanism. The metal gears and links they'd made with the help of Cabin Nine, securely located in a secluded location below deck. The oars were activated by a small switch at the stern.

Festus, Leo's faithful dragon, adorned the prow as the masthead, looking breathtaking in its golden plates and jeweled eyes.

As they approach it, a resounding crack freezes them in their place.

"No!" Leo shouts, but his outstretched hand can't stop the bowsprit from bending at a bad angle and dropping towards the sand. Leo's running towards it before Annabeth can even take a step. "No! Come on!" he yells at the sky. "We just put that on today!"

She inspects the base of the bowsprit interestedly. "Today?" she asks.

"Yeah," he kicks the wood sourly.

"You put it at the wrong angle," she concludes. "That's supposed to be thirty-nine degrees exactly, not forty. That's why it broke. The balance of the end of the bowsprit tipped the other side forward."

He sighs. "Sure, Annabeth. Whatever you say." He shakes his head. She smiles.

Over the course of the next 24 hours, she delved into her work. Making sure the ropes were tight enough, the rudder was perfect, Festus's head wouldn't drop off.

Leo and Cabin Nine hovered near her, pointing out random things that she apparently was doing wrong.

"Leo, Jake, I got this, okay?" she says finally. "I'm good with this stuff."

"Yeah," Jake jumps in, "well, what about the gears? That one's warped."

She sighs exasperatedly. "It's _warped_ because it wouldn't work the way you forged it, Jacob."

"That's not my name."

"Don't care, it is now, go," she orders. "Send Neal."

Though Jake leaves, Leo lingers. "A little jumpy, Annie?"

"Don't call me that," she says absently, yanking on a rope. As she climbs up the rope ladder to the deck to double check the sails, he clambers after.

"Why d'you need Neal?" he asks, peering over the side.

"I don't," she replies crisply. "Neal's at the orthodontist in the city. It'll take Jake a while to find him. At least until I'm done with this—stupid—mast—crutch." The last few words grind out between her teeth while she yanks at a stubborn piece of wood.

"You think Greece will be bad?" he asks.

She sighs, releasing the mast crutch and turning to him. "Honestly? I don't think it could be any better than the Battle of Manhattan." Her face darkens at the memory. "Gaea's not going down without a fight."

* * *

The heat is the first thing she feels. The sun's rays beating down on her back makes her stir, scrunching her nose in that just-woke-up kind of way. Her eyes open.

She's face-down on a wooden floor, curled up near a wooden pole. She frowns in groggy puzzlement at the strange rocking sensation beneath her. It takes her a few moments to realize she was lying on the deck of the _Argo II_.

She sits up, rubbing her raw cheek, looking around. She didn't remember falling asleep. She held a hammer in her right fist and a screwdriver in her left, with a #2 pencil behind her ear.

_Creak._

The sound startles her, but she doesn't hesitate. In a reflex move, she whirls, bringing the hammer down so fast it would've killed whoever was standing behind her, except they had reflexes almost as good as hers, and caught her wrist quickly.

"Trying to kill me, Annabeth?"

Rolling her eyes, she pulls her wrist out of his grip. "Don't sneak up on me like that if you don't wanna get brained, Percy."

He surveys her slightly mussed hair. "Did you sleep here?"

She rubs her eyes. "Yeah." She frowns. "Can't remember what I was doing."

"Now you know how I feel," he mutters, but she pretends she doesn't hear. She bites down on the hammer's handle.

"Help me with this," she instructs around the hammer, sticking out a foot. He sighs, shaking his head, but gives her a leg-up to the mast.

"What are you doing?" He stands back, watching her climb up the ropes like a blonde monkey.

She tosses the screwdriver down on deck. "This rope keeps slipping," she answers, muffled. "Nail." He throws her one.

"Don't we sail today?" he asks.

She frowns again, pausing at her hammering. "Yeah." She curses as her foot slips, but regains her balance. "Damn, I hate building."

"Want help?" He climbs up beside her.

She purses her lips. "What do you know about construction?"

He shrugs, smiling that crooked grin that has her heart doing flips. "Nothing. I just wanted to have an excuse to kiss you." She can't help smiling as he does so, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Ew, get a room."

They break apart to see Nico di Angelo, grinning cockily.

"Shut up, Nico," Annabeth says, throwing her hammer down.

Nico snags the tool from the air, still grinning. "Whatever."

"Nico? Where'd you go?" someone shouts from below.

Nico rolls his eyes. "Up here!"

A few annoyed grunts and a thump later, two hands appear on the deck, followed by a head of flame-like hair.

"Rachel?" Annabeth asks.

"Hey," she answers breathlessly, tugging at her red ponytail. As usual, Rachel Dare's worn denim shorts and old t-shirt are covered in Sharpie marks, with words in Greek, and even a sketch of the _Argo II_. "Where is everyone?"

"Here! I'm here! Don't worry! Flaming Valdez is here to save the day!" Leo's shouts announce his appearance before he comes into view, grinning brightly.

"Of course you are," Piper rolls her eyes as she trails after him, taking his offering hand and pulling herself onto deck.

"Are we ready then?" Jason's voice asks. None are surprised to see him float over the starboard edge of the ship, landing soundly on his feet.

Leo peers over the same edge. "What, no bon voyage?" he whines.

"Romans hate us, remember?" Piper says.

"Not that much," Jason says defensively.

"MIZZENMAST!" Percy yells.

Every person on deck stares at him, while Annabeth just smiles. He remembers the _Queen Anne's Revenge_.

Seconds later pulleys creak, ropes snap, wood groans—and _the Argo II moves_.

"What the Hades?" Leo shouts.

Jason stares at Percy in amazement. "How did you do that?"

He looks at him calmly. "I have no idea."

She can't help but smile more.


	6. Feeling

**Sorry for not updating :'( I had really bad writer's block.**

* * *

**6/Percy**

Feeling.

It's a trait that he doesn't get anymore. He knows it's ridiculous that he can say that, but it's true.

Ever since that day when Nico di Angelo proposed the impossible: the Styx. Ever since he hit that water, he'd only been imagining he could feel that pain.

He's only getting bits and pieces back from the queen of the gods, yet it's enough to know that he can't feel much now. He gets snitches of pain from a long-lost war, fear from an epic battle. He doesn't feel that anymore. He can't be surprised.

His gaze shifts from the surface of the water to behind him, where the three girls sit together. He's not looking at Piper, telling a joke he couldn't hear, or Rachel, rolling on the floor. He's watching Annabeth, laughing as if she doesn't have a care in the world.

The sun bounces in sparkles off her golden curls, high in a ponytail. Her owl earrings brush softly against the smooth skin of her throat. Her gray eyes, clear and happy, shine in the light.

_She_ is what he feels.

He's near her, and he gets a warm, fuzzy sort of sensation in his chest, a tingling in his throat when she laughs, just like she is now. She's angry, he's the same. She's sad, he can be nothing but.

Now he smiles, watching her grab onto Piper to stay up, gasping for her breath.

"Someone's in love."

Nico stands beside him, grinning annoyingly.

Percy frowns. "Maybe," is all he's willing to say. He may be getting memories back, but he doesn't trust a faded friend like Nico. He's certain no one does.

Nico sighs dramatically. "Me too, buddy." He grins some more.

"Don't tease the lovesick guy, Nico; you might be one of them someday," Leo says ominously.

"I'll laugh when I see the day," Jason smiles absently in Piper's direction.

"Hey!" Rachel calls. "Stop staring, you stalkers!" That earns fresh peals of giggles from Piper and Annabeth, who finally falls off her seat and hits the floor next to Rachel.

"Girls," Nico snorts. "Sometimes I think it isn't worth it."

"It is," Percy and Jason say at the same time, then they laugh.

Leo rolls his eyes. "Gods, you guys are starting to push me onto Nico's side."

"Jason!" Piper chokes out. "Get over here! Rachel's got the dirtiest jokes!"

"Oh I gotta see this," Nico says. Leo agrees, and the three of them head over to the girls.

Percy stays behind. He doesn't know why, but somehow he doesn't feel quite right with them. Out of place. Left out.

Yes, he belongs with them. He knows that well, the information having been drilled into his brain a number of times. Yet he can't help being insecure.

The Roman life he'd built for himself is nothing short of a mirage, a simple, deceiving image he can never reach. He's not meant for the world of honor, discipline, and battle that the Romans so favor. He's not meant to be a great ruler, like Caesar or Augustus. He's not meant to be a soldier. As the Fates would tell him, he imagines, he is not cut from Roman cloth.

A place where a man can prove his worth. An empire where a soldier can assert his dominance. That is the life he is now accustomed to, not the peaceful, playful way of the Greeks he's supposedly come from. He's torn, from the people of his origin, and the tempting style of the glorious position he's being offered.

But he knows now: the offer has expired. He's exiled from that world now. There's no going back.

"What's going on in that head of yours, Seaweed Brain?" Her voice sends a whirlwind of strange emotions through him. He turns, with a slight smile.

"Nothing." He answers without thinking, a rather stupid mistake on his part.

"Isn't it like that always?" she replies with a grin. She laughs at his expression, putting her arms around his neck. "You always fall for my traps, Jackson."

When she kisses him, he's hit with that faintly-memorable sensation of his Roman-tuned brain melting out of his skull.

* * *

The day passes without so much as one attack, something that troubles Percy. They _are_ demigods, after all; something should've happened by now. The lack of such made him uneasy.

He'd spent countless time controlling the currents around the _Argo II_. Annabeth had sat on the starboard edge, flipping through an old architecture book. Jason had stood at the prow, manipulating the winds in their favor. Leo had been scrambling below deck like an insane monkey, checking the gears and constantly adjusting the settings. Piper had climbed the ropes all the way to the top of the mast; Jason found her asleep up there. Rachel had done over half an hour of yoga on deck; Nico had been standing in the shadows behind her the whole time, a goofy grin on his face.

Now it was nightfall. They're sitting around a small hearth of portable fire Leo had somehow managed to make. Piper's head is resting lightly on Jason's shoulder while he looks off into the distance, drawing the clouds around the ship like a cool blanket. Annabeth and Rachel are singing songs and laughing on every line. Nico's staring into the firelight, a grim expression on his face that's too old for his age. Leo's on his back, gazing up at the sky.

Again, Percy can't help the sense that he doesn't fit with them. They seem so absorbed to him, so wrapped up in their happy little minds. So oblivious to everything else. He gets a tiny spark of curiosity at that; what would it be like, to trap yourself in a place where you can be happy for eternity? Ignore the troubles of the world? It sounds so...peaceful. He wonders briefly if he would want that kind of eternity.

"Hey," Leo says suddenly.

Annabeth and Rachel stop in the middle of their song to glance over. Piper lifts her head. Jason looks down. Nico's eyes shift to him. Percy sighs internally, but follows suit.

"I just noticed something," Leo goes on.

"What?" Rachel asks.

"See that?"

They all scoot closer to follow Leo's finger. "What?" Rachel repeats.

"That shadow," Leo says. "It's moving."

"Shadows move depending on light patterns," Annabeth says. "Or you could just be experiencing an optical illusion from staring at it too long."

Percy looks over at her, and he can't help but notice how cute she is; the expression that proves her mind is scattered over a million subjects, the numbers she's tracing on the deck with her fingers, the lock of blonde hair that falls onto her cheek.

Nico rolls his eyes. "Yes, Annabeth, we know."

"_You _know," Piper points out. "You're the one with shadow power, Death Boy."

"Meh," he shrugs. He frowns up at the shadow Leo was previously pointing at, stretching slowly across the clouds.

"I meant it's moving weird," Leo sighs in exasperation. "See? It's doing it."

They crowd a little closer. The shadow disappears, then reappears on a different cloud, as if it had _jumped_.

"I don't like that," Nico says.

"What are you thinking?" Rachel asks. "Kindly Ones? Harpies?"

"No, the Furies don't act unless my father commands it," Nico disagrees, ignoring everyone's uncomfortable shift at the name. "And the harpies don't leave camp."

"Ever heard of rogue, Nico?" Piper quips. "Harpies don't all work for Chiron."

"Okay, fine," he backtracks. "Just saying, I know harpies. That," he points up, "isn't one."

"Then what is it?" Jason says.

"It's got underworld aura," Nico says absently. His eyes widen. "Oh crap."

"What?" Percy asks.

He stands. "My dad—"

The sharp scream of an animal suddenly cuts through the air.

The seven of them are armed instantly, their seven sets of eyes scouring the sky. They inch closer to each other involuntarily, making a lopsided circle. Percy's trained eyes sweep the dark clouds fervently, searching for any sign of movement. He sees none. It couldn't have disappeared, could it?

"DUCK!" Piper screams. They all look up for a split second, then all of them hit the deck—literally. Percy's scrambling to his feet as soon as the dark shape swoops down over them, the resulting wind blowing his hair back hard.

He whirls, Riptide in hand, just in time to see Nico trip backwards over the edge of the _Argo II_.

"Nico!" he yells. He runs, ducking instinctively at the sound of the animal's shriek, and peers down into the water. "Nico where are you?"

A black aviator's jacket bobs to the surface. A spluttering Nico follows, screaming, "I HATE WATER!"

"Percy get down you idiot!" Annabeth tackles him from behind, a pair of talons missing them by inches.

"What the hell is that?" he shouts. "Just kill it already!"

"I'm trying!" she retorts. She throws her knife with such perfect precision that it shaves the beast's hide. They all clamp their hands over their ears at the piercing scream it emits.

"Nico, give me your hand!" Percy yells, hanging over the edge. He wills the water to push his friend up, until—

"No!" Nico calls. "Percy, stop!"

"What?"

"I was trying to tell you!" he shouts over the yelling of the others. "My dad—he wants me to—" Rachel's shriek cuts him off; all Percy hears is: "I can't travel with you!"

"Are you crazy?" Annabeth screams down before Percy can.

"I don't know, maybe!" he screams back.

"Cut the crap, Nico!" Percy bellows. "Get up here!"

"I'm not destined to go with you guys! I'm not one of the seven! The Fates have their plans, Perce, Annabeth! I'll find my own way to Greece!" And Nico's gone.

"NICO!" Percy shouts. He whirls around, finding Rachel mid-shoot with a bow and arrow. "Somebody! Get a rope or—"

"WAIT!" Annabeth seizes Rachel's bow. "Look, it's—!"

A second before she finishes her sentence, a pair of booted feet thud aboard.

The girl standing there raises an eyebrow, looking insanely punk in her ripped silvery camo pants, DEATH TO BIEBER t-shirt, and spiky black hair as she leans on a great metallic bow. Her silver tiara glints as she grins at them.

"'Sup, kids?"

* * *

**Okay, just for the record, normally I wouldn't make Nico perverted, I thought that scene would be funny. Leave me some reviews to fill up my inbox if you've got thoughts :)**

**~ Mia ~**


	7. Happy

***sigh* I didn't get so many reviews... But whatevs, I'm giving you guys another chapter anyway. Besides, I think that people are just getting lazier. I definitely have. I'm supposed to be doing last-minute math homework. Damn geometry... **

* * *

**7/Annabeth**

Happy.

It was something she rarely felt. She's a subject of constant tragedy: neglect, abandonment, betrayal, loneliness, and the list goes on and on.

That pain usually keeps her from being happy. Years ago, she used to hide behind her knowledge, her pride. It kept the old sores buried, beneath victorious smirks and skeptically raised eyebrows.

But now the feeling shot through her as the six of them stare uncomprehendingly at the girl before them.

Thalia Grace blows hair out of her eyes. "What, no welcoming committee?"

"Thalia!" they all yell at the same time. Six pairs of arms tackle her into a giant group hug, holding on so tightly they don't even notice they're falling until they hit the floor.

"Whoa, okay!" she says. "A little too much love for Thalia!"

"What are you doing here?" Annabeth asks as soon as Jason pulls her to her feet.

"Yeah, about that," Thalia says. "Oh, wait, hold on a second." She raises her bow. "THANKS, LAERTES!" The dark shape they'd been attempting to fight lets out another ear-shattering scream, then vanishes into the clouds.

Annabeth almost slaps her hand to her forehead. How did she not see it? The wing-span, the shape of the torso, it was so obvious.

"Dad's eagle?" Jason questions.

"Yep." Thalia's grin was bright, even in the dark. Her electric blue eyes flit to the sky for a moment. "He can't let a group of legendary demigods go on a legendary quest without his legendary daughter."

"That's a Greek for you," a voice spits.

They all freeze. Piper's expression is something between dread and exasperation. Jason closes his eyes with a look that says, "FML." Percy is the essence of shocked. Thalia rolls her eyes. Leo looks like he's mentally sighing. Rachel just raises an eyebrow at everyone's reactions.

Annabeth herself hasn't known the owner for long, but the voice she'd educated herself with. So she isn't all too surprised when they all turn to see a girl climbing over the port side of the ship, soaking wet and extremely irritated.

For a second, though, she _is_ surprised. She knows this girl, yes, but she never did get used to the fact of how closely they resemble each other. She blinks, having to remind herself she's not looking in a mirror.

The girl sneers at them, wringing water out of her hair. "Lost your tongues?"

"Reyna," Percy, surprisingly, is the one who talks first. "What are you doing here?"

The Roman daughter of Minerva glares back with an air that Annabeth is all too familiar with. "I _was_ supposed to be coming with you," she says sharply. "But she," she shoots a deathly look at Thalia, "pushed me off the damn eagle."

_Worth it,_ Thalia mouths behind Reyna's back. Piper snickers.

Annabeth blinks at her; Piper McLean is known for avoiding the "mean girls" attitude, and yet all of a sudden she's showing a side Annabeth can only classify as jealousy. She doesn't know this Piper, and, judging by the look on Jason's face, neither does he.

"What?" Reyna huffs. "It's not like I wanted to be here, you know. Minerva's not a goddess you defy."

"What?" Annabeth is caught off guard this time. "Mom wanted you here?"

"_My_ mom," Reyna corrects harshly. "I don't know about _yours_."

The way Annabeth's hand twitches for her knife has both Jason and Percy stepping between them.

"Let's just calm down," Percy coaxes. She frowns at Reyna over his shoulder, but her arm hangs at her side.

"Reyna, good to see you again," Jason says awkwardly to the girl.

She frowns. "Whatever, Jason."

"I'm sorry, but why are we even letting her stand here?" Piper demands. "She did try to feed my nose to her damn dog."

"I didn't know you," Reyna snaps defensively. She glowers. "If I did, the dog would've gotten more than your nose."

Leo had to grab Piper to hold her back.

"I kind of agree with Pipes," Thalia says. "I saw that nose-thing."

"She can't be here anyway," Leo put in. "There's seven of us already."

Rachel, quiet until now, steps forward. "No, there's six. I don't count," she adds at their expressions. "I'm mortal, remember?" She turns to Reyna. "Reyna Cambridge, you are the seventh half-blood to answer this call. Welcome." There's a silence, as six glares move to Rachel.

"Look, she's here now and there's no going back," Percy says. "Laertes is gone, and there's no way Zeus is going to lend his eagle to a Roman anyway."

They all look at each other, gauging their frustration with Reyna, Percy's conclusion, their options.

"Fine," Piper speaks for all of them. "But I'm not having anything to do with her." The daughter of Aphrodite marches off sourly, with Jason calling after her.

Leo grunts, but he leaves too, followed by Percy, who gives Reyna a warning look. A small strike of pain hits Annabeth at that. She doesn't know that kind of look. She can't read it, like she usually does. The anxiousness rises to her mouth like bile, but she swallows it, instead using her discomfort to strengthen her emotionless expression.

She knows the pain that crosses Reyna's face; she dealt with that kind of torture for months, except she got her happy ending, and Reyna didn't. She can only pity the other girl as she studies her.

"I understand," she says quietly.

The Roman's eyes flash up, but in place of the anger Annabeth is expecting, there's a hint of vulnerability, something both know is dangerous to expose.

"You don't understand anything," she mutters, turning away.

"Hm," Thalia huffs behind Annabeth, arms crossed. "So, day going well?"

She sits. Right on the deck. "Not really," she admits. "I don't like this, Thals."

Thalia sits too. She fumbles with her belt for a moment, then dumps a small pouch full of chocolate on the wooden deck. "What's not to like?" Zeus's daughter begins to munch thoughtfully on a heart. "You got Percy back, you one-upped the Romans, you're going to Greece, you're probably going to see the Parthenon. Oh, and you one-upped the Romans."

Annabeth grabs a chocolate and starts unwrapping it. "Yeah, but… It's Percy. He's…different."

Thalia frowns. "I was wondering when you'd notice."

"You knew?" Annabeth, to her own surprise, doesn't find that interesting. Thalia noticed all kinds of things. The only thing was that she noticed first. "I guess that's not shocking." She sighs. "He's not Percy anymore."

"Sure he is," Thalia counters wisely. "He's just not the Percy you know. The Romans just clouded his tiny kelp brain. Give him time to clean it out."

Annabeth smiles. "How is it you know so much about boys, but you're a Hunter?"

"Well, why doesn't glue stick to the inside of the bottle?" Thalia shrugs. "Weird universe."

"Leo says there's elves stirring the glue so it doesn't get hard," Annabeth says absently after a minute.

"Of course he does."

She bites down on her thumb in thought, listening to the sound of Jason trying to calm Piper down and Leo's argument with Percy about elves. Perhaps Thalia's right. Percy had spent a long time with the Romans, adjusting himself to the life there; how else would he survive? She rested her chin in her hand.

"You ever wonder what would happen if you made a different decision? If you went down another path?" she asks Thalia.

"Sure."

"Ever wish you did?"

"Every day."

* * *

As it turns out: chocolate doesn't help Annabeth sleep.

Having Thalia around eases Annabeth's nerves. She was anything but comfortable on the _Argo II_, though that's how she and Leo designed it.

It seemed to work fine for her best friend; she was snoring within minutes. Piper'd tossed and turned for a while, but she went off into sleepy land soon enough too. Rachel hadn't even made so much as a snort.

So it was quiet. The ship's soothing motion rocks her like a baby. She's exhausted.

But she's wide awake.

She had everything she'd wanted. Percy. A free trip to Greece. A chance to see her dream: the Parthenon.

Yet somehow, it feels as if she's gained nothing.

After all of this, fighting to find Percy, fighting her way to the Roman camp, fighting to get his memories back, but it still isn't the same. She doesn't know what she was thinking. What, did she expect everything just to go back to normal? The prophecies to be over? The wars? The conflictions?

That's stupid of her, and she knows it.

She pushes the blanket back from her body, failed at her intention to sleep. The rocking of the ship gives her no trouble as she makes her way to the door, which only opens with a slight creak.

No one is in sight when she creeps above deck. The winds are silent with Jason no longer commanding them. The tides are still without Percy's presence. All is quiet. Almost too quiet.

"Couldn't sleep?"

Normally, she would've expected to hear someone else's voice, but this time she jumps. "No," she says, startled.

Rachel finishes tying her dark red hair in a messy bun, then picks up her paintbrush. "Hypnos does tend to avoid us, doesn't he?" she muses. "Morpheus, on the other hand…"

_Dreams?_ Annabeth eyes the other girl as she mixes selected colors into a bowl. "Having nightmares?"

Rachel's paintbrush pauses an inch from the canvas. "No," she answers quietly. "Hazel contacted me."

"Hazel?" The name brings back a dim memory of a girl in Roman clothing, bearing the letters SPQR beneath a golden lyre on her arm. Annabeth had met her, but the introduction seems far and distant compared to now.

"The Sybil," Rachel prods, making the first paint stroke.

"Yes, I remember." From what Annabeth knew, the Sybil and the Oracle are not permitted to speak even remotely with each other, for fear of tangling the thin, yet thick, threads of the metaphysical. If one had to speak first, Annabeth would not have expected Hazel Pierce to do it.

"She wanted my _advice_." The colors of Rachel's brush become more than just smears of paint; suddenly, they seem to move, gathering together in swooping lines and the paint illusion of mist on the easel.

Annabeth frowns. "Romans don't use advice. They think with their fists."

Rachel's nose wrinkles. "Yeah, well."

"What did she say?" Annabeth asks.

"More like what did she _want_," Rachel corrects. She stands back, squinting at her painting.

Annabeth glances at it. To her, it looks like a foggy meadow, with the beginnings of a golden temple to the right background. "Visions?" she questions.

"Something like that." The expert tip of the brush draws in the shape of a human, and Annabeth can only feel slightly impressed at Rachel's swift expertise. She notes that the girl doesn't seem to be controlling the brush in her hand; rather, the brush is controlling her.

"Well?" Annabeth says.

"She says she saw Greece up in flames. Jason and Percy tearing at each others' throats. You…"

Annabeth waits, but Rachel doesn't continue. "Me…?" she prompts.

"She's probably making it up," Rachel says, dropping the brush into her pocket and wiping her hands on her jeans. Smiling at Annabeth, she starts for the hatch, saying over her shoulder, "She just wants to know what we know. Good night."

Annabeth's eyes narrow. "Good night," she says, but she can't ignore the fact that Rachel seemed to change the subject a little too quickly.


	8. Friendly

**You guys have no idea how happy your reviews make me. Oh, and thank you to ..latte for the brilliant idea you gave me. Now my chapters may be considerably longer, thanks to you :D So, go ahead and eat what I whipped up for you, huh?**

* * *

**8/Percy**

Friendly.

It's a characteristic he hasn't seen much of. Not when he was a kid, not now, and he's pretty sure not ever.

He doesn't remember much about it, simply that he never was greeted with that luxury. Or, at least, not often. Not with Thalia, one of his best friends. Not with Nico, one of his other best friends. Not even with Annabeth, his lovely girlfriend.

Thalia had almost punched him in the face when she first met him, after waking in his arms and uttering her name. When Nico'd first made eye contact, he'd stared at Percy like he was the devil. Annabeth's first words to him were, "You drool when you sleep."

Now, years later, he guesses not all relationships can begin with perky hellos or funny jokes. Especially when he's…well, him.

It's late, after Thalia's grand entrance and Reyna's angry one. Piper had been the most angry; Percy could hear her ranting in rapid French as Jason bounded after her below deck.

Jason had been the most agitated. He spent twenty minutes standing outside the girls' cabin calling to Piper.

Thalia had been the most annoyed. She was the one who yelled at them to "shut up, she was trying to sleep."

Leo had been the most entertained; he'd listened to their whole argument with a grin.

Annabeth had been the most troubled; she kept shooting Reyna sad glances, and only stopped when she fell asleep.

Rachel was the most calm of them all. She didn't seem affected by the tension at all. She'd simply shut Piper up with something in French, told Thalia to calm down, locked Leo in the closet, lent Annabeth a pillow, and let Jason talk her ear off with his problems. She even had the energy afterwards to smile at Percy, then disappear into the girls' cabin.

He'd tried to sleep. But somehow he knew that that wasn't possible. So, like everyone else with sleep problems, he ends up above deck. Except, like he thought, he isn't alone.

He stands behind her as she sits on the bowsprit, her legs dangling over twenty feet above the water. Her blonde hair, so alike his girlfriend's, blows around her in the wind.

"You okay?" he asks.

"No." The answer is quiet. She turns her head slightly. An understanding passes between them; he is to keep seeing this side of her to himself. A Roman is strong and invincible, a hero in the face of death. No soldier, not even the weakest, is meant to show any sign of emotion besides anger and bloodlust. She in the least, because she's their leader. She's not supposed to be as vulnerable as this. And he knows that.

"I'm not okay," she says. "I'm traveling by _water_, I'm stuck on a boat full of _Greeks_, I'm going to have to fight a war I don't give a crap about… Jason _doesn't_ love me." She squeezes her eyes shut. "How much can the Fates hate me?" Her voice wavers.

"They don't hate you," he says. "Just me." She doesn't reply to that. There's a beat of silence, then he asks, "Who'd you leave in charge?"

"Bobby," she answers. A slight, bitter smile tugs at one corner of her mouth at his expression. "Hazel's keeping an eye on him for me."

"How is everyone else?"

And he knows that even she understands the double meaning to his words. "Not good," she replies quietly. "She's in denial. She's not accepting that you're gone. She still thinks you'll come back." It's clear to him Reyna's lost hope of that.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know what I'm doing, Reyna," he confesses. "Rome is the place where I can be a man, but Greece is where I come from. I don't know where I belong."

"You can belong to two places, Percy." She sighs too. "A cruel man," she begins, "will make a thief pay with his life. A good man will only take his hand. But a great man will merely strip him of his honor." She turns toward him. "Jason was the good man, Perce. _You_ are the great man."

She goes on without stopping. "You _can_ come back. The position as praetor is still yours, and it's waiting for you. So is Janelle. You're a better leader than Jason could ever be. We need you." She stares at him while he stares back, his expression smooth of emotion, hope etched in hers.

"You're lying to me, Rey." He can see she's surprised at the amount of ice coating his words. And deep down, that ice cuts her. But he doesn't care. Because for that moment, he's not a Greek. He's a Roman. "Lucky I'm a great man, 'cause a good one would take your tongue."

And then he's walking down the steps of the hatch, leaving Reyna alone to stare at the water. The boat rocks soothingly as he heads silently for his cabin, like it's trying to comfort him.

He passes the girls' quarters with extra caution; Thalia might snore like a demon, but she can wake up at the sound of a ghost's breath. And Percy really didn't need a knife to his gut right now.

He's not too surprised to find Annabeth dozing outside his cabin door, no doubt irritated at his not being in his bunk. She doesn't stir when he draws closer. She mutters his name in his sleep. It earns his soft smile.

He slides one arm under her knees and another below her shoulders, pulling her off the ground with an effortless that only the Curse of Achilles could give him.

Neither Leo nor Jason wake when he walks into their shared cabin and places Annabeth on his bunk. He pulls the blanket over her, then turns, prepared to sleep above deck or on the floor, but her hand curls around his arm.

"Don't go," she mutters. "I don't want to be alone."

And he only hesitates for a second before sliding into the space she cleared for him, winding his arms around her while she nestles into him. The content she sighs with mirrors his, but then she says—

"Thanks, Luke."

And his happiness comes crashing down.

* * *

_At first, he doesn't realize he's dreaming._

"_Where's the—?"_

"_Shh!"_

_He blinks. He's crouching in some bushes, sword in hand. The sky is obviously summer, with the sun shining brightly, but the trees block most of the heat, creating a cool, muddy underbrush. The ground squishes beneath his feet._

_A hand slaps the back of his head. "Stop zoning, Percy. We've got to get moving."_

_He looks up just in time to see a head of dark hair disappear into the green. He follows without thinking, finally coming face-to-face with a girl who's definitely not Reyna Cambridge._

"_Where's Dakota?" It's his voice asking the question, but not his mind that created the thought._

"_Wandering," the girl replies absently._

"_Are we waiting?" He frowns when she doesn't answer. "Nelle, are we waiting or not?"_

_It's almost as if he has no control over himself; trapped in his own, still-functioning body. That's when he realizes: this is not a vision. It's a flashback. He can't control it because it's already happened. He suddenly recognizes the place where he and Janelle Prentice are standing._

_Janelle cups her hands over her mouth and blows. A bird call echoes through the trees. Seconds later, a large shape bursts from the bushes. _

"_What's going on?"_

_Dakota Henry's eyes immediately scan the small clearing for any sign of danger, gladius out just in case._

_Janelle slaps his sword down. "Stop being so paranoid, Kota. Where are we? Still in Frisco?"_

_Dakota rolls his eyes. "No, Janelle, we're in South America."_

_She shoots him a glare that clearly states she'll put one of her knives in him if he says another word. _

_Percy cuts in. "I think she meant, where in Frisco?"_

_He scratches his head, then shrugs, but Janelle stares around them in sudden epiphany. "Looks like…Bull Moose."_

_Dakota's eyes widen. "No way."_

_Janelle notches an arrow in her bow. "Kota, we have to move now."_

"_What? Why?" Percy asks._

"_Don't ask questions!" Dakota snaps at him with a harshness that's unusual even for him. "Just go!"_

_There's a sudden series of thwacking sounds—six of them, in a pattern. Suddenly they're all on the ground, two arrows pinning each one down. Janelle lets out a growl and starts to reach for a knife, but another arrow lands near her head._

"_Now, now, wouldn't want to cause trouble, would we?"_

_Dakota and Janelle both freeze. Janelle looks even more angry, while Dakota just looks like he needs to puke, but forgot how to breathe. Percy stares at them, confused._

_A girl in furs steps into the light, holding a dark silver bow in her hands. "Hello, Kota," she purrs._

"_Gwen," Janelle hisses._

_Then his memory fades to black._

* * *

Now he's standing on the deck of the _Argo II_, with the sky bright, the sun shining, and the sea air blowing everywhere. It feels like heaven.

"Perseus."

And it just became hell. It's all he can do to reach for his pen, though he knows it won't help him. Her smile widens at the sight, almost mocking him.

The queen of the gods sits on an elegant chair that he'd never seen on the _Argo II _before, wearing her usual oil-on-water gown and her glowing, Hephaestus-made crown.

Still, she is not a pleasant sight.

"What are you doing here?" he demands.

She frowns at that. "Do not snap at me, Perseus."

He sighs, then gives a brief, teasing bow, stowing away his pen. "Happy?"

"Not really," she sniffs, brushing off her skirt. She gives the _Argo II _a distasteful glance. "I don't like boats."

"It's a ship," he corrects, annoyed.

"Whatever," she says, dismissively waving a hand.

"Did you send me that memory?" he asks tiredly.

"Yes," she replies simply.

"Why?"

Her eyes gleam, stirring up a bad sense in his stomach. "I need a favor."

"Why should I do you any favors?" he snaps. "You ruined my life."

"Didn't I just say not to snap at me?" she growls. Her hand glows for a fraction of a second, then dies down. She leans back instead, clasping her hands about her knees. "Besides, I prefer to think of it as…improved, not ruined. Mildly," she adds nonchalantly.

His hand tightens. "Just scram, Hera. I don't want to deal with whatever you're planning."

Her eyes narrow. "But it's for the good of all mankind, Perseus." Her voice changes to sugary sweet, a trait that he's not familiar with in her.

"Don't call me that."

"Perseus," she begins (earning a groan out of him), "my grandmother is not one to be trifled with. She likes to get what she wants, a little alike myself. The difference is what I want, is usually right. What she wants, is usually for her own needs. We must do all that we can to deprive of that luxury."

Luxury? He eyes her in suspicion. "Why can't you use your _other _hero?" He's sneering, surprising himself.

A spark flashes through her eyes for a moment. Suddenly her face is hard, her mouth cruel, her eyes warlike, and he knows he's not looking at Hera. But before he can move a muscle, Juno is gone, and the regal Hera is back in place.

"You mean Jason?" she continues lightly, as if nothing had happened.

"Yes, I mean Jason," he scowls. "Can't you get _him _to do your dirty work?"

"No," she replies sweetly. She sighs. "Jason is still young. He's a Roman; as a friend of yours has often said, he thinks with his fists rather than his head. The Greeks have taught him a bit better, but at heart he is still Juno's. Not mine. Besides, you've had more experience than Jason. You've been fighting since you were, oh, eleven?"

"Twelve," he interrupts.

She gives a tiny shrug to mean, _Whatever_, then moves on. "You're the best swordsmen Camp Half-Blood has seen in three hundred years—"

"That's Luke." His hand clenches so tightly his knuckles turn white.

"Luke's dead," she reminds him shortly. "And you're a bit dim-witted, but you'll do. You're my only option."

"I can't believe I'm even listening to you," he groans. "Just wake me up, will you?"

"Fine," she replies curtly. "I need you to take care of Reyna, Percy. That's the favor. She's a very important pawn in this game. I need her."

"Wha—?"

"Oh, and don't be fooled. They may look nice, but they'll rip your throat out."

Queen Hera waves her hand before he can begin to protest, and yet again his dream dissolves into darkness.

* * *

**I think I made Hera snotty enough for her usual character, yeah? So, leave me some reviews to eat up if you have anything to tell me, and I'll jump on the oh-so-lovely task of writing you another chapter.**

**~ Mia ~**


	9. Love

**Guess who it is! Yep, it's Mia with a new chapter! I'm really sorry about the delay; I would've had this chapter up a couple of days ago, but my Internet AND my electricity just decided to go out on me, so I'm posting while I have a burst of Internet left. (Thank you, Hermes.)**

**And yes, ..latte (did I ever mention your pen name is kinda awesome?), that flashback DIDN'T make sense. And you know why? Because that was my very own preview. Oh, that's right: Mia Cortez will be featuring her very own Son of Neptune fanfiction. Coming soon, wink, wink.**

**

* * *

9/Annabeth**

Love.

Love, for her, is a rare and cherished experience that she's convinced she'll only be in once. With one person.

Percy.

Normally, she'd be planning ahead, what their next move would be together. But with him? He's as unpredictable and wild as his father's domain. It's impossible for her to even think of what to do in the future because she's too busy thinking about what's happening in the present.

And she's happy with that. She doesn't want to think about their future as a couple, because there's a chance it might end. She keeps herself locked on Now, rather than Later, so she can enjoy what she has, with all its difficulties.

And her love, it comes with difficulties. She's gotten used to them, as needed, but they're always there. It's made it hard. Hard for her to love, no matter how Hollywood that sounds.

His disappearance was one of the worst wounds. She could never really describe the feeling to anyone, not even Thalia. Too painful, is the best way she could put it.

Her dreams weren't always nightmares about him, though. Some were better, happy, even, despite how scarce they were in the months of his absence. They didn't have him in them, but instead they were more like memories she was reliving. Memories of when she first came to camp, when she first met Thalia, and so on.

They mostly contained Luke.

Luke before he went to Kronos' side. Before he betrayed her. Before he betrayed everyone. She liked those dreams, more than she cared to admit. And when Percy came back, she counted on them disappearing.

For once, she was wrong.

They didn't go away. They came at her worst times, as if to comfort her. As if a dream of Luke and Thalia and Grover would make her feel better.

She doesn't know what game the gods are trying to play at her expense, but she can only be grateful for whichever one is sending her the dreams in the first place. It seems ludicrous, but it works.

But of course, she would never admit it.

* * *

When she wakes, she's surprised to find herself in Percy's bunk, the early sunlight shining through a porthole. Leo and Jason are still snoring away. Percy himself is missing.

She rubs her eyes. She's usually a morning person, having been a part of the only cabin at camp that woke at 6:00 am, but today she seems overly tired, though why…she doesn't know.

It's a hard thing for her to admit, that she doesn't know something. And yes, she knows it's silly, that it's probably just her hubris getting the best of her, but she of all people knows that knowledge is her pride, as well as her life.

Because if she's ever wrong, everything goes insane.

That's her experience, anyhow.

The air is cool below deck when she slips out. She pauses quietly at the door of the girls' cabin, where there is nothing but snoring. She passes by without another thought.

The other girls aren't like her. Piper would rise at what Leo calls the "butt crack of dawn" if she needed to, but Annabeth knows that if Piper had the choice, she would never see daybreak. Rachel is the same. And Thalia never rose before noon unless she was about to die.

It's only when she steps on a wet patch of wood that she realizes she's barefoot. She frowns down at the deck, wondering how it got wet. Deciding it was the sea's spray, she continues down to the mast, where a plate of doughnuts is sitting, though how they got there, she has no idea.

As she lifts one to eye level and replaces it, there's no one in sight. No one fighting over which way the sails should unfold, no one laughing, no one scarfing down every piece of food in sight.

The ever-present feeling of suspicion twines around her stomach like snakes. Her hand drifts to the razor-sharp blade of her Celestial bronze knife, strapped to her thigh.

"They're just doughnuts, Greek. Don't have a heart attack."

She relaxes at the sneering voice, though her hand does not leave her knife. "I didn't think you'd be up at this hour," she says, turning.

Reyna Cambridge scowls at her, arms crossed. "It hurts to say it out loud, but we _are_ sisters, to some extent. We're bound to have the same habits."

Annabeth's eyebrow raises. "Like doughnuts in the morning?" She takes one in her hand, studying it with a keen eye.

"It's not poisoned," Reyna comments, her tone slightly lighter. She smiles almost creepily as Annabeth takes a tentative bite. "That's not the way I would kill you."

Annabeth wipes the powdered sugar from her lips with her thumb. "Nor I you," she replies. They stand in silence for a moment or two, Annabeth still gripping her knife, Reyna fingering her necklace.

"How's Jason then?"

The question fires from Reyna's lips in a rushed jumble that catches Annabeth off guard. They stare at each other some more, gray into gray, anticipation into surprise. And Annabeth spots something in the Roman girl's eyes that she's not prepared to see.

"Reyna," she dares to speak, taking a step forward. "I know how—"

"You don't know anything!" The snap is quieter than a yell, but sharp as a knife. Reyna's eyes gleam with anger. "Just…just shut up, okay? You don't know anything."

Annabeth closes her mouth quickly, unsure of how to respond. The girl is right; she doesn't know anything. And she's glad she doesn't have to. She pities the other girl, standing directly across from her with tears welling behind her gray eyes, but she keeps her thoughts to herself.

"You're right," she says softly. "I don't know anything. I can't imagine how you're feeling right now."

"No, you can't!" Reyna shoots back. "Don't get all therapist on me!"

"I'm not," Annabeth answers carefully. "I'm not going to pretend I can sympathize with you. But I get it."

"Get what?" Reyna sneers. "Like I said: you don't know anything. You don't know anything about me."

"I know you fell in love," Annabeth's words are slipping off her tongue faster than she can stop them. "He was the weirdo there, wasn't he? The new dork that everybody wanted as fresh meat. He got dumped on you." She's rambling relentlessly now, but the expression on Reyna's face tells her she's dead on target.

"And he was annoying in the beginning; _really_ annoying. He was stupid and clueless and never did anything you told him to do. He disagreed with you at every single turn and kept jumping into every dangerous fight there was, even if he didn't mean it. He was literally the most idiotic guy you'd ever met."

She took a deep breath.

"But he was cute. And he was brave. And he probably saved your life once or twice. He was funny, and he was cocky, and he thought he could do anything. And you loved him."

Reyna's mouth opens, then closes. She squeezes her eyes shut, and Annabeth knows it's too keep the tears away.

"I never stopped." Those three words are choked in a way that Annabeth wishes she isn't familiar with.

"I know."

* * *

Sitting at the prow hours later, she stares off into the distance.

Stretching beyond her eyes is the blue-green surface of the ocean, its lovely sparkle displaying Poseidon's pleasure. The sky is clear of clouds, but full of wind, blowing the Argo II at a quicker pace than she could've hoped for, though she suspects it's just Jason trying to make their lives easier for once.

She rests her chin on the wood. She can't seem to stop thinking. Reyna's pain is so real. So much more than her own. It made her feelings seem miniscule in comparison. She can't help but pity Reyna, but she knows never to say so out loud.

She wonders what it would have been like if it was she in Reyna's place. What if Percy had made the other choice? What if he didn't love her? What if he had abandoned her, turned his back completely? She isn't sure she could've taken it. And wonders how Reyna can.

"Stupid Jason," she mutters to herself. "How could you do this?"

"Do what?"

She's startled, but doesn't move, as Jason himself sits beside her. The corners of her mouth dip into a frown. "Choose," she says simply.

His face drops as he realizes what she's talking about. "Please don't stab me when I say this, but how is that any of your business?"

She glances at him skeptically. "I was her, Jason. I was the other version of her. It's my business."

The son of Jupiter exhales. "You always find a way to win, don't you?"

"It's what I do," she says crisply.

"Well it's not going to work this time," he answers with surprising sharpness. "That business is between me and Reyna. It doesn't include you."

"Did you even think about what it would do to her?" She turns to face him, giving him the face she knows full well has gained its reputation as the infamous _I-will-kill-you-slowly-and-painfully _look. "At all?"

"I did a lot of thinking," he retorts defensively, moving closer. "I didn't choose her because I love Piper. Piper was the one who turned to be real, even though our memories were fake. I chose Piper, okay? You don't have a say in that."

"And you know what, Annabeth?" He raises his fingers an inch apart between their faces. "I was this close to choosing 'the other girl'. And I bet Percy was the same."

Her fierce expression shatters. Her open mouth closes. "You're right." Her voice is a whisper now. Broken. Her gray eyes line with tears she doesn't bother to blink away. "I was out of line. I'm sorry." And she doesn't even stay to enjoy the look of regret etched on Jason's face.

She's barely down the hatch steps when a hand grabs her arm. She's half-prepared to stab them in the gut, when she realizes it's Percy.

"Hey," he says. "What's wrong?"

She takes one look at his face, and she can't hold it in anymore. A broken sob comes from her lips. She buries her cheek into his chest as he pulls her to him, her arms going up and around his neck.

"Shh," his voice murmurs. "It's okay."

But it isn't okay, and she knows that. How could she been so foolish? Did she think it would be an easy pick? That he would take one look at her and just choose her? That he would still love her?

"Annabeth," he says. "What's wrong? Did something happen?" The last sentence is slightly more stressed than the others. He starts up the steps as he says them, but she pulls him back, her cheek still pressed to his now-soaked shirt.

"Percy," she whispers.

He's still staring up the hatch, trying to see above deck. "Annabeth?"

"Do you love me?"

He looks down at her with his piercing green eyes. They stand there for a fraction of a second, before he says, "Yes."

But as he presses a kiss to the top of her head and wraps his arms around her once more, she can't shake the actuality that… He hesitated.

That's when she finally admits it to herself. The facts she'd buried away below all that happiness Percy had brought her, though why she did so, she never did question.

Love is merciless.

Love is painful.

Love…is a bitch.

* * *

**Sorry if you're one of those anti-profanity people, but that last line just seemed kind of right, you know? Anyway, if it IS a problem (which I doubt, you guys aren't sissies), I can go back and change it to something else, but I don't think it will be as good.**

**Oh, and P.S.: MY Son of Neptune will not be posted until after Voyage of the Argonauts it completed. I have too much to do without another fanfiction on top of it all.**

**Love,**

**~ Mia ~**


	10. Wistful

**Hey guys, I'm back! Oh, I know you're soo happy, right? Just kidding, you probably hate me by now. Well, these two words should explain it: writers' block. I HATE it, I don't know about you. Anyway, I know this one's short, but I am working on the next one as you read this A/N.**

**Because honestly, what comes next wouldn't be as good in Percy's point of view, wink wink.**

* * *

**10/Percy**

Wistful.

It's always been a strange sort of presence in him.

His brain recognizes that somehow, though he's not thinking. He can't think. At least, not when he's with her. She does the thinking for him, and he's sure she knows that.

He wishes he could form his words the way he wants. Not the jumbled, clumsy, awkward mess that makes more sense in his mind than in his mouth. He hates the way her lovely face falls, into bitter disappointment that hurts him more than she could know. He wishes he could tell her…

But, he doesn't know what to tell her.

So he watches her walk away.

Her hair, bouncing in curls off her shoulders, taunts him, almost in slow motion. The creak of her shoes on wood seems to jab him with the reminder that she's leaving, that he should do something. Anything. But as the door of the engine rooms swishes to a close, he stands still.

And, as the door clicks shut, the momentary flash of her gray eyes is gone.

Yes, he's wistful. He's wistful for a life he knows he can never have. A world where there are no troubles in store for him. A place where it can just be him… and her. Where he doesn't have to fight for his life and hers. Where he doesn't have to protect…everything.

He's wistful for a chance to be normal. Just him. Just her. Just New York. Just California. Just _together_.

But he's alone now, standing in an empty, narrow hall, half-lit by the open hatch, rocking slightly on waves that swell with his frustration.

"You're an idiot," a voice comments behind him.

That breaks his trance. He blinks. He turns around to find Rachel Dare standing indifferently on the hatch steps, frowning at him in such a skeptical way she looks like his mother.

"What?" he asks.

Rachel gives him a skeptical look. "You're just as clueless as ever, you know that?"

"So I've been told," he replies.

She rolls her eyes, sighs, and heads up the steps before he can question her further.

"What?" he mutters to himself. Then he follows after her.

He isn't surprised to find everyone else on deck.

Thalia, clad in her Hunter's garb, laughs teasingly during her hand-to-hand-combat contest with Jason, whose forehead wrinkles in concentration. Piper, eyelids drooping in boredom, watches the siblings in a sort of trance as she waits for Leo to take his turn at jacks. Reyna stands near the prow, inspecting her tall spear with a trained Roman eye. Beside her is a table with a plate of doughnuts.

Rachel grabs one, smiling. "Thank you, Reyna," she says, taking a bite. "It was nice of you to make doughnuts." Reyna gives her a strange look.

"It's creepy how you know everything," Leo comments, frantically scooping jacks while the rubber ball soars. "Hah!" He slaps a handful on the floor, making Piper jump. "Take that, Beauty Queen!" He raises his arms over his head. "And the crowd goes wild! Rah! Rah!"

"I do not know everything," Rachel says. "And he cheated, Piper."

"Leo!" Piper punches his arm.

"Ouch! Come on, I only cheated a little—OW! Stop that!"

Their voices seem to fade from his ears as he turns away, towards the water. The morning is cool to his skin, the air laced with the brine of sea spray. He breathes it in gratefully, allowing his father's powers to heighten his senses.

"Sun's high," Reyna's voice says beside him.

He doesn't turn to her. "Yeah," he replies after a moment. "Apollo must be feeling good."

"Yeah," she says after a moment. "Your redhead sacrificed something to him the other night. Not that she needed to. Sybils are always the favorite."

"Oracle," he corrects. "Rachel's an Oracle. Greek, remember?"

He can feel her eyes studying him as his words hang suspended in the air between them. He turns to stare in return, but he is taken aback at the glare in her sharp gray eyes.

And though he hasn't known her long, he can read what's in them, unlike (in so many ways) Annabeth's. And even so, he can't see it all. She thinks he's lying, he knows that much. She thinks he's lying to everyone.

"I _am_ a Greek, Rey," he insists. "I'm not a Roman."

She pauses. "You keep telling yourself that." With those words, she pushes herself away from the ledge and disappears from his sight.

The sigh that comes from his lips doesn't feel like a sigh. It feels more like he's breathing in, rather than out. Like he's breathing in all the doubt and skepticism that Reyna had been twining with the air, exchanging it for the hope he'd been experiencing.

His stomach begins to churn. _What if she's right?_ The four-word sentence wraps around his mind in such a way that he wishes he never met the Roman girl.

His hands clench on the smooth olive wood of the _Argo II_ as that idea, that simple idea, began to grow in the deep of his mind. It's true that, at times, he feels more like a soldier than a peacemaker.

But every single time he looks at Annabeth, he's reminded that she believes he belongs. With them. With her. In New York. And he knows—oh, more than anything, he knows—that he cares for her.

His thoughts flash back to that moment of suspense below deck, where a sliver of light was bouncing off her hair in sparkles, where her gait seemed perfect, where, even though everything had gone so, so wrong, _she_ seemed perfect.

And...he didn't know what to tell her.

He uses both hands to rub his face, in an almost childish attempt to massage the throbbing brain behind it. Gods, why can't it just be _easy_ for him?

"Storm's coming closer."

And speaking of _not easy_...

"Storm?" he says immediately, glancing up. Immediately he notices—though why he didn't before is inexplicable—that there is a row of furious clouds lurking on the horizon, and moving more quickly by the second.

"Yes, Jackson, storm." Thalia's electric blue eyes roll towards the sky, then swiftly sweep the skyline. "Doesn't look like I can control it, Kelp Brains. Why don't you—"

It takes him a fraction of a second to realize it was Thalia's own yelp that cut off her sentence.

Or, it could have been the horrible, creaking shudder that is tearing its way through the center of Leo Valdez's beloved ship.


	11. Mechanical

**Hi guys: I can't even tell you how bad I feel about not updating for so long, and I have an excuse. Any of you ever heard of the Error Type 2 thingy? If you have, you know how seriously annoying it is to try and edit/update your story and this stupid little box pops up instead. I HATE THAT! I even complained directly to FF's email, but it's been DAYS and they haven't done anything.**

**Thankfully, I stumbled over I'mTheGirlWhoLearnedToFly's_ Persephone Files For Divorce_ and ended up reading it (it was funny by the way, check it out), and she posted an A/N where she said she figured out a way to get around the IRRITATING Error Type 2 thing.**

**You just type:**

**h t t p : / / l o g i n . f a n f i c t i o n . n e t / s t o r y / s t o r y _ e d i t _ c o n t e n t . p h p ? s t o r y i d =**

**WITHOUT the spaces into your address bar and add your story's ID number at the end of it. If you don't know what a story ID is, it's that number that shows up under the author's name like this:**

**Rating- Language- Genre- Characters A&B- Reviews- Updated- Published- _id: 0123456789 -_- this was an EXAMPLE, by the way, DO NOT actually use this.**

**And that link DOES work, so best of luck, yeah?**

**Back to the story.**

**Disclaimer: (Did I ever do this?) I own nothing but the events I, Mia Cortez, have created.**

* * *

**11/Annabeth**

Mechanical.

Everything she's doing feels that way.

If she were a therapist, she would have classified it as a psychological method to block out the unwanted. And deep down, it's true.

It'd been hard, to just walk away from him. She doesn't want to believe it happened. All the doubts that had been hanging over her head now come crashing down on her. She'd been so sure, so carefully reassuring herself. She'd been so certain. She thought she was so right, that he had chosen her over her without a single moment of pause. That he had seen her and picked her without having to even take a second glance.

Now, sitting dejectedly with her back to the cold door, she knows she'd practically made it all up.

She wishes she could still be in that fantasy. Her insides twist at the thought of the _other_ girl.

She runs her fingers through her hair. Her fingertips become snarled in the blonde knots. She swiftly yanks it into a ponytail. The clamber of the engines adds to the mess of loud thoughts tangling in her head. It doesn't help.

She can hear voices from the hall outside. One sounds vaguely alike Rachel, with a fairly scolding tone that doesn't suit the urban Oracle. The other is clearly his, sounding stressed and annoyed.

_Good,_ she thinks. _He deserves it._

She shakes her head suddenly. Since when is she so angry? She gives a bitter laugh at that thought. She doesn't know. She doesn't know anything anymore. Twenty-four hours ago she'd been high on her own happiness. Now? Now she's drowning in her own anger.

She pushes down the choking sensation in her throat and heaves herself to her feet. She needs something to do.

Her hand lands on something surprising as they slide from smooth surface to surface—a piece of paper. She scans the words quickly:

_Annabeth –_

_It's like midnight right now, but by the time you read this I'll either be sleeping or eating, so check on the e. wiring for me; I'm pretty sure it's shorting out._

_- Leo_

Sighing, she turns to face the metal box behind her, labeled ELECTRICAL WIRING. She presses her fingers lightly to the plates. With two clicks and a hiss of air, they fall lightly into her hands. The intimidating clump of multicolored wires don't display a pretty sight as they emerge from the metal; immediately she notices something's wrong.

Though how she would fix it, she doesn't know.

She's a daughter of Athena. "I'm good with_ideas_,"she'd protested to Percy once. "Not mechanics."

A bead of sweat travels down her face. She stares uncomprehendingly at the wires—blue, yellow, red, green, black, all glaring back at her. Yes, she's not good with mechanics, but, even so, she's able to notice something amiss.

Her teeth cut into her lip. Her nimble fingers lightly follow the path of a thin red wire, finally coming to meet a cylinder she knows doesn't belong. She puts a hand to her belt to grab her wrench... Only to find it missing.

"What the...?" she mutters to herself. She scans the room for it.

Air suddenly whooshes past her. Her head snaps to the side, but she sees nothing.

Something rustles behind her.

She whirls around so fast that the ground slips out from underneath her. Her head cracks against the floor.

A peal of laughter echoes, even over the noise of the engines.

The pain in her head makes it hard to put two and two together. She lifts her hand near her face swiftly. She stares at the thick green slime connecting her fingers uncomprehendingly for a fraction of a second. Realization hits her.

She rolls over and onto her feet just moments before a hissing whip impales the wood where her head had been resting. She quickly sends the nearest pointed object—a screwdriver—into the dark, then whips on her Yankees cap and dives behind a set of pistons.

She hears a giggle.

"You cannot hide from us, daughter of Athena." The lilting voice is so musical it sounds as if the owner is singing the words.

"Hide-and-Seek is a child's game, dear," a second laughs. "We..._love_ children."

"We go by scent," another breathes, "not sight."

Her heart pounds. She grips her knife. A sharp intake of breath comes from the other side of the pistons. Her breathing stops.

Her grip tightens. With reflexes that can only be owned by a demigod, she lashes out the second a dark head peers around the corner, then rolls backwards and dives behind a pile of empty boxes as the piercing wail brings down hell.

"Liah!" one of the voices screams.

Annabeth takes a breath. She leaps over the boxes and into the direction of the voice, tackling something extremely slimy. It shrieks when Annabeth's knife is driven into its side over and over, but somehow manages to hook its fingers into her back and throw her onto the ground.

Her breath is stolen when she finally sees them.

They are the faces of beautiful women, with enchanting eyes and flowing hair. They wear gowns of tattered silk, the colors faded so much they simply seem gray. No feet peek from beneath the hem, however. Instead flicks a serpentine tail, broad and thick enough to balance their bodies.

One, with a blood-red mane, bears a fresh gash across her lovely face. Liah.

_Lamiae._ She curses silently. Her eyes flick around the engine room. The sound of the machines would drown out any of her screams. The door is too far from where she is now to reach without being caught.

Her gaze drops onto a tool box, left carelessly by Leo near her right hand. All Celestial bronze-made.

Searing pain in her right shoulder snaps her to attention. Glancing down, she realizes it's a snake head biting into her flesh. With a yelp she beheads it, but another and another latch onto her arms and legs, refusing to budge.

The owner hisses. "How shall we eat her, Lucy?" she growls.

"Now!" Liah snarls. "This one is mine!" There is a silence, the only sound Liah's blood dripping onto the wood.

"We shall save her for later," Lucy announces, her serpent-green eyes sharp. "Lenore, you will silence her. Liah, stop the ship. And do not fret," she adds as the monster growls. "There are many others aboard. We are in for a banquet."

Annabeth senses the end of the demon's speech. Fast as a viper, she uses Lenore's face as leverage to propel herself towards Leo's discarded toolbox and seizes a handful of maintenance tools.

She throws a heavy-set wrench at Lucy's head, stabs Lenore with pliers, and whirls to attack Liah, but receives a full blow to the face instead.

Someone screams in agony at the same moment pain spikes up her leg. It was her. Nausea erupts in her stomach as she looks down and sees Liah's monstrous, rotting teeth embedded into her calf.

She slams her other foot into the center of Liah's face, then scrambles backward, despite the intense pain in her leg.

"You stand no chance, demigod child," Liah spits, blood spraying Annabeth's face. Her clawed hand grips the engine beside her, tearing and ripping the metal like butter as she uses it to rise to her feet. "Do you think that we travel only in threes?" And with that, the monster throws her head back and wails.

She can feel her cheek weeping blood, but she knows that if Liah's call is finished, the _Argo II_ will be swarmed. She ignores her wounded leg, leaps, and plunges her knife into the base of the lamia's throat.

Dark-colored blood spurts like a fountain, cutting off the scream with gurgling, but it isn't over. Something heavy collides with Annabeth's back, and suddenly what feels like a million needles piercing her skin.

She realizes it's Lenore, clawing and ripping like an insane cat. She can barely see Lucy out of the corner of her eyes, using the same wrench Annabeth'd hit her with to destroy Leo's beloved equipment.

She's swinging wildly with her knife, trying to hit Lenore, but keeps missing. There's a flash and a shower of sparks, tailed by a scream, and suddenly she's in an earthquake.

She cries out as water bursts in a geyser through the floor. Somehow she manages to slam Lenore into an electrical panel, whirl around, and thrust her knife over and over into the lamia's abdomen.

By the time Lenore slumps, Annabeth's hands are drenched in blood. A wild, crazy shriek explodes behind her. When she turns, Lucy pounces. Annabeth's back collides with something sharp, causing her to scream in pain.

The ship rumbles violently beneath them, dangerously affecting Annabeth's balance. Her vision wavers, though all she can see is Lucy's now-grotesque face.

"You will die, child!" Lucy screams.

"Not yet," she growls.

The adrenaline pumping through her numbs Lucy's claws in her. It gives her the strength to hook her knees around the lamia's middle and throw her down, grabbing the red-stained hair in a death grip.

When she raises her knife, she doesn't feel anything but the cold, massive lack of blood she's experiencing.

The world tips at an odd angle. The next thing she knows, her cheek is pressed against the floor, slick with blood.

And when her eyelids droop closed, there is only one thing, automatically—mechanically—on her mind.

_Percy._

* * *

**Don't you just love the fact that she won? I do! (And I'm the one who wrote it.)**

**Next chapter's in-progress as you read this. (: Review if you have thoughts!**

**~ Mia ~**


	12. Adrenaline

**Look who's back! Yup! Me! Sorry I haven't updated until now (wow, I've been saying that a lot), but FF was being stupid for a while. So, here's your chapter.**

* * *

**12/Percy**

Adrenaline.

It was the sole most important thing in a demigod's survival, besides ADHD and Celestial bronze. It was the thing that kept exhausted hearts going, worn limbs fighting, dull blades swinging.

And at this moment, it is the power coursing through his veins, giving him the lightning-fast speed to grab Leo and throw him near the mast, accidently sending him like a bowling ball into Jason and Piper, who squeal.

But even the adrenaline can't help his balance as Leo's precious ship shudders again, forcing him to the ground. A clang of metal nearby tells him Thalia had suffered the same fate. Looking up, he's surprised to find Rachel still on her feet, though just barely, hooking her arms around the railing.

"Percy!" Thalia bellows, using Aegis to block the spray of water. "Stop it!"

"I'm not doing anything!" he shouts back defensively, grabbing Rachel's arm to help her stay up.

"Exactly!" Reyna screams. "So do something, Kelp Head!"

"Yes, _please_ listen to—!" Piper's yell is cut off by a scream. Eyes flashing from face to face, Percy realizes the voice belongs to none of them. It is shrill, wailing, one that none of the warriors, even a mortal such as Rachel, would ever emit.

He saw the streaking shape, lighting fast, unidentifiable, before attack, but even his adrenaline-pumped legs could not get to it in time. The shriek torn from Rachel's throat didn't help his speed, but Thalia managed.

One crackling stab with her spear and Rachel's red hair is released, accompanied by the same shriek they'd all heard just moments before.

"_Empousa!"_ Piper shouts, pulling her knife into view.

The creature hisses furiously, clutching her smoking hand. "You dare to confuse us with those donkey-robots?"

Leo blinks, momentarily out of his mortified trance. "Donkey-robots?"

Thalia's face contorts, her expression obvious to Percy that she's more interested in something else.

else. "Us?"

Another vicious hiss ignites behind Jackson, earning her a close call with his sword. "Indeed, daughter of Zeus. Did you really think _lamiae_ travel alone?"

"What—?" he begins, but now it's his turn to be cut off. They move faster than Hermes himself, but somehow he still manages to see them.

In unison, the two of them crouch into a strange stance, take a deep breath, and promptly spew a jet of fire before his eyes.

By the time the flash develops the good sense to abandon Percy's vision, flame is eating its way through the deck in an impenetrable wall. Thalia leaps towards the nearest monster, bashing her in the face with Aegis.

Reyna follows suit, attempting to spear the second, but instead engaging in heated battle; one, judging by her expression, she enjoys.

Leo is the only one in the open, staring frozen with his mouth agape at the incredibly swift damage occurring to his creation.

"MY SHIP!" Leo shouts. "NO!"

Somehow—Percy suspects the aid of adrenaline—Leo finds the strength to heave himself to his feet and make a mad dash for the hatch, only to be tackled halfway by Rachel, who had miraculously released her vise-like grip on the rail. The two of them tumble to the ground, barely missed by the bowsprit swinging dangerously around.

He struggles against Rachel's intense grasp. "No! Stop it! Get off! There's something wrong with the engines!"

Suddenly, time seems to slow. Percy can feel the adrenaline returning to him, heightening his senses in a familiar way. But he didn't want to know why he'd need it.

"Percy! You go with him!" she commands, reluctantly releasing Leo.

"What?" he responds. "Why me!"

The answer is roared back by every voice on deck: _"You're fire-proof!"_

He groans, but he knows they're right. Uncapping Riptide, he and Leo run for the open hatch. The fact that he can spot countless clawed, scaly-like hands grabbing to the side of the _Argo II_ doesn't help his anxiety; a split second later he's forced to hit the ground like a pro ball-player, dragging Leo with him, sliding safely below deck with hardly a singe to their hair.

"Ow!" he growls to himself.

The pain in his leg is short-lived; another shriek snaps up his attention, but this time it's not from above deck. Realization jolts him.

_Annabeth._

He's streaking for the engine rooms before the thought can fully register. How in the name of Poseidon could he have forgotten about her? He's so _stupid._ Gods, he'd known something was missing when they'd been under attack, but he'd never thought himself stupid enough to forget about _her_.

He may not have remembered her until recently, but she's definitely more than important to him. He needs her.

That thought alone almost stops him in his tracks. _He needs her_. Not wants, _needs_. Deep down, he smiles; he never imagined he could find a solution to this problem so soon, especially when she was the problem.

Bu then again, he's often wrong.

Later, he'd wonder how it was even possible for him to have more of it, but at that second, adrenaline itself seems to help him kick open the door, sword out and shield ready for battle. Footsteps thud behind him, but he doesn't turn to make sure Leo's okay.

His mind reels at the state of the engines, torn to near shreds and dripping in a dark something he quickly looks away from. Glittering dust litters the wet floor—monster remains. A hole yawns in the wall, allowing water to flood the room. It is complete chaos…

And that's not even including the extremely still body lying in a pool of monster-dust-mixed blood.

Riptide hits the floor with a clatter.

"Annabeth." He almost doesn't realize he's said her name out loud; he's frozen in place. He's vaguely aware of Leo's strangled, horrified gasp beside him, followed by the shouting of Rachel's name.

He suddenly recalls a memory from his still-foggy past: himself, fighting as if he were trapped in syrup facing a young, sandy-haired boy his own age swinging a deadly scythe with blazing gold eyes.

He's encased in that feeling now, staring down at…her.

"Oh Apollo," a voice exclaims behind him.

He doesn't turn. Rachel races to crouch by her side, hands shaking as she presses a palm to the blonde's forehead and throat.

"She's alive," the Oracle breathes in relief. Then she whirls around, all her frustration evident in her face. "Percy, Leo, what the heck are you doing just standing there? Help me!"

All they could manage is, "I—I…uh—"

All of them nearly lose their balance as the ship rocks violently, forcing Rachel to back into the wall, Leo to land on his butt, and Percy to trip over his weapon.

"No time!" Rachel insists. A clang turns their heads, then a column of fire bursts from the piston, the sudden slap of heat causing Rachel to scream. "Fix it, Fish Boy!" she shouts. The two of them exchange glances, then skid over to the site of the worst damage.

"Holy Hephaestus!" Leo swears, dodging a spray of steam. "My ship!" Quickly he ducks under the steam

"I don't care about how much you love your ship, Hot Head, just take care of it!" Rachel commands, looking extremely irritated. Percy forces himself not to glance at her as she pulls her thin shirt over her head. Swallowing back fearful bile, he notices Leo's gaze is shameless, earning him a metal object to the face.

"Rachel!" Leo calls suddenly.

The redheaded Oracle looks up from her task of staunching blood gush. "What?" she snaps.

"You have to get out of here," he says simply. "This place might blow at any second, and you're not fire-proof."

The skeptical look she shoots him reminds him painfully of Annabeth's. "You're not exactly fire-retardant either," she retorts. "I mean, you're pretty retarded—"

"Rachel!" Percy growls. This time, he glares at her, ignoring her lack of clothing. "I am not going to argue with you. If Leo says this might end up in flames, I want you to shut up, and get Annabeth into a lifeboat. Got it?"

The girl blinks at him, anger gone. He's never spoken to her that way before, and she's obviously caught off-guard with it. Her mouth hardens. "Fine," she says finally. "But I can't move her by myself; she's got nasty bite all over her that're bleeding out fast, and if I stress it wrong, she's going to lose more blood than she's got."

"Go," Leo intervenes. "I can hold this until you get back."

With a sigh, Percy crouches next to Annabeth. He almost can't stand the sight of her, lying absolutely motionless in a pool of her own blood, three red slashes across her cheek, her hair matted with a mix of blood and monster dust.

Even wounded as she is, he's never seen anyone so tragically beautiful. So tragically fragile. He's never before been more careful with anything when he slips his arms beneath her, one just under her knees, one supporting her neck, and lifts her up. She's lighter than air in his arms, her head lolling aimlessly onto his shoulder.

Rachel's soft voice gently interrupts the silence. "It's a little too quiet up there," she comments.

"Yeah," Percy says after a moment, but he's not paying much attention to what she's saying.

He hears her give a quiet sigh. She carefully releases Annabeth's injured leg, then makes her way past him and takes a few quick steps up the stairs. "Thalia!" she calls. "Is it okay up there?"

There's no answer but a grunt, a squelch, and a screech. Then, "Yeah, all clear!"

Satisfied, Rachel resumes her position securing Annabeth's leg, and the three of them begin a cautious ascent.

When Percy's head emerges from the hatch, Thalia is viciously pulling her spear from the stomach of the last, scaly monster, a scowl on her face. Her eyes become as wide as saucers and her mouth drops open when she notices Annabeth.

"Oh my gods!" she exclaims.

"Thalia, there's no sign of any more _lamiae_," Piper runs up with her knife, Katroptis, still drawn. She gives a strangled gasp, taking a stumbling step back. "Oh Aphrodite!" Her horrified eyes flash up. "What happened?"

Percy doesn't respond. Instead, he pushes past the stunned girls and heads for the nearest lifeboat, hidden under the boards of the deck. Rachel hurries after him. _"Lamiae?"_ she mutters.

"Percy," Thalia's calling suddenly, running over. "Percy, what happened down there?"

His eyes don't leave Annabeth's pale face to meet Thalia's worried one. "Don't know," he mutters.

A hand wraps around his, holding it tightly, forcing his attention away from the wounded daughter of Athena. "Percy," Piper says softly. "You don't have to stay here." Her brown eyes prod at him in such a way, he's sure she's charm speaking, but he knows she's only doing it "for his own good." His resolve, despite that knowledge, softens.

"Leo's all alone down there," Rachel agrees. "He mentioned something about an explosion…" Her green eyes look at him hopefully, willing him to go.

"Fires need water to get put out," Thalia reminds him. "Go. We'll take care of her." _Her_ blue eyes are no joke, and prove to him that if he doesn't do it on his own, she'll throw him down there himself.

"Whatever," is all his brain can manage to say through its haze of worry and shock. His feet move for the hatch, feeling strangely numb. He can feel the three girls' eyes on him, brown, green, blue, all worrying. All scared.

"Percy! _Percy_!" someone's shouting his name when he miraculously makes it down the stairs. "Are you there—? Shoot! OW! PERCY!"

He's jolted. Just like that. The adrenaline's back, pumping bravery and strength into him again; giving him the ability to draw Riptide and dash to the engine room.

"What? What?" He gives the room a frantic look-over. The hole in the wall had been plugged with a wad of clothing and bits of metal. The scraps had been shoved into a pile in the corner. The steam/fire-spitting machine had been staunched, but every few minutes an earthquake-like tremble would shake the ship, earning Greek curses out of Leo.

"It's totally fried," he says.

Percy stares at it for a second, incomprehensive. "What is it?"

Leo stops running his fingers through his hair to give him a blank look. "Um, it's the machine that controls the oars. One of those demons or whatever slashed up the wiring, so the oars can't move right. That's why we keep having earthquakes on water."

"How do we…you know, fix it?" Percy asks.

"We can't just _fix it_," Leo answers sharply, tone irritated. "It's going to take days, maybe even weeks, to repair all of this. We have to stop the ship."

"A _standstill_?" Percy exclaims. "What—are you crazy? We can't exactly make a pit stop, you know. The king is rising fast."

"You think I don't know that?" Leo snaps. "Listen, if we keep going on these jacked oars, well, we'll be stranded instead of at a standstill. And none of us want that, do we?"

Percy blinks. He realizes he and Leo are almost nose-to-nose. He takes a step back. "Okay. I don't know you, Leo, but I believe you."

Leo breathes a sigh. "Good. Now, if we're going to do this, we'd better get started."

Percy glances once towards the door. "Yeah."

"We don't have any time to lose."


	13. Ghostly

**Look who's back! Yay! Okay, I realized I start off A/N's with Sorry too much, but that's just because I've been doing homework, studying for state tests, and yadda yadda. Anyway, here you go! :D**

* * *

**13/Annabeth**

_Ghostly._

_That's how she feels. That's how everything feels. The pain especially. It's…faint, sort of numb, but not quite. However it feels, it's there. It's burning, in her calf, in her side, in her arm, in her back._

_For once, it's something she doesn't know. A very rare situation for her indeed. She supposes she should be used to being subjected to things she doesn't know. Amnesia, for one thing._

_Whenever she thinks of it, she laughs bitterly. She's supposed to be the daughter of Athena, goddess of wisdom, for gods' sakes! She's not supposed to be fooled so easily! She's not supposed to be at the short end of the stick. She's supposed to have the upper hand, always._

_The fight in the engine rooms was her "lower hand," she knows that. She knows she's not conscious now. Very faintly, she can feel the hardness beneath her back, the cool wetness on her brow, the dull, yet sharp, pain in her body._

_She can hear the very ghosts of voices, fluttering around her ears. Lyre music plays somewhere in the recess of the sounds, soft and sweet. Yet she sees nothing but black._

Annabeth…

_Her eyes open, and it's only then that she realizes she's had them closed. As soon as she registers her surroundings, the architect inside her goes wild with excitement._

_She's in a marble room circled with white pillars. The ceiling is a perfect depiction of the face of the night sky, dotted with stars. A thin layer of smoke swirls on the floor, coating her gold-sandaled feet delicately. There are no windows to be seen, yet the room is bright with sunlight... _Gold-sandaled feet?

_Surprised, she looks down at herself. She's dressed in the flowing folds of a Greek dress, silver winding around the waist and hem. Armbands weigh down her movement. An ankle bracelet drapes her foot. Her hair is swept into some kind of knot at the base of her neck, with only a few blonde tendrils allowed to brush the skin of her neck._

"_What the…?" she mutters._

"_Oh, Annabeth, don't question my sense in style," a lovely voice chides, a hint of a giggle behind the scolding. "You're just lucky I was forced to go _classical_."_

_She whirls around, causing the smoke to rise up around her knees. "Aphrodite?" _

_The beautiful goddess of love flashes a gorgeous smile at the girl. "The one and only, honey."_

_Aphrodite, if possible, is even more ravishing since the last time Annabeth saw her. Her chestnut hair cascades in curls around her divine face, crowned with a thin diadem; the dress she dons is the very picture of a goddess, sewn with gold that catches every sliver of sunlight. _

_In short, the goddess is stunning. _

"_What are you doing here?" she says, bluntly. By the goddess's expression, blunter than she would have preferred. But Aphrodite says nothing of the matter._

"_I'm here because you need _advice_."_

"_Advice?" The suspicion in Annabeth's voice is evident._

"_Yes, romantic advice!" The goddess cries, clapping her hands with glee._

_Annabeth's stomach clenches at the thought of her love life at this maniacal Olympian's hands—but then she remembers it already is. The knowing smile on Aphrodite's infamous lips proves that the dread is etched upon Annabeth's face clearly, and even as she realizes the goddess knows her thoughts, she doesn't attempt to disguise the expression._

_Instead she folds her arms across her chest, and nods reluctantly (and albeit a little curiously) for Aphrodite to continue._

_She flashes a delighted smile. "One word," she says, holding up a single, manicured finger. She pauses, as if for dramatic effect, her ruby lips twisting farther into her knowing, yet sensual smile. "Percy."_

_She stares triumphantly at Annabeth's face; what she is expectant for, Annabeth doesn't know._

_With a sour feeling, she clearly recalls the encounter between she and Percy, full of false pretences and bitter resentment. Well, for her at least. She is thoroughly irritated at Aphrodite's bluntness to bring up the subject, but she forces herself not to react._

"_Yes?" she answers coldly._

_A laugh bubbles from the ivory skin of Aphrodite's throat. "Annabeth, please!" She rises from her golden-wrought chair, raising her arms. "I am the goddess—" she turns in a quick circle, "—of love. I know all the little juicy tidbits of your relationship with Percy Jackson. And trust me, dear, he remembers you, every inch of you. Your hair, your eyes, your…lips." She winks. "Give him another chance, will you honey? Besides, it's not his fault he's so confused. I _did_ tell him it wouldn't be easy." _

_Ignoring the stricken look on the demigod's face, she picks up one of Annabeth's hands in her own soft ones, giving the girl a genuine smile and a light sigh. "Don't be sad, honey. My plans aren't as 'smart' as your mothers, but they all work out in the end."_

_And with those final words, Annabeth's vision goes black._

"…when will she wake up?" A familiar voice enters Annabeth's brain. Her hearing is weak, the sounds warped and strange. Her mind is cloudy; it's hard for her to think.

"How should I know? Rachel's the healer." The next voice is sharp with stress. Annabeth can almost picture the piercing blue eyes that went with it.

"I'm not a healer," Rachel's voice is thick with irritation. "I just happen to know a few of Apollo's tricks."

"Potato, potahto," the second voice says, almost sneeringly. "How is she?"

A frustrated sigh comes from Rachel's unseen lips. "Thalia, I get that you're worried, but I don't need you breathing down my neck. This gash needs more stitches."

As soon as Rachel mentions the process, the feeling flares in Annabeth's leg, the pain searing and the needle tugging. Following quickly is the full extent of her injuries, which, up until then, she had stupidly forgotten about.

Pain rakes down her back, up her arms, and through her torso, burning madly across her face. Had she been able to move, she would've screamed in agony. But for some reason her whole body is completely numb.

She suddenly realizes, through her haze of pain, that Thalia is still talking. In a panic, she flusters to focus on her voice.

"…fine, but—"

"She's critical."

"What does that even mean? Don't you think you're hurting her?"

"She's under anesthesia," the painful tugging in her leg pauses as Rachel begins an aggravated explanation. "She shouldn't be feeling a thing."

Annabeth fumbles to regain the memory of speech. "Mm," she blurts finally.

All conversation ceases.

"Did you hear that?" the very first voice sounds hopeful.

"Yeah," Rachel's doesn't seem very surprised.

"Annabeth?" Thalia is the first to address her. "What'd you say?"

"Ow," she mumbles finally. She makes her eyes open. Hovering over her are three very worried faces.

The gash in Thalia's cheek is obviously stitched by Rachel's expert hand, and her lip swelling, but she gives a relieved laugh at the sight of Annabeth. Piper's hair is singed slightly, her head bandaged tightly over an obvious bump, but she smiles as well. Rachel seems fine, save for a light pattern of developing bruises on her arms and shoulder.

Annabeth forces a weak smile, then opens her mouth to speak, but her airway is suddenly blocked by the ambrosia Rachel had just shoved in.

"Eat," the Oracle commands.

With nothing else to do, Annabeth obediently swallows the warm square. Instantly the pain recedes. She sighs contentedly. "Thanks," she croaks hoarsely.

Rachel's momentary smile is gone as soon as it appeared. "There, she's fine," she says to Piper and Thalia. "Now go and see what the hold up is bel—" The floor rumbles, almost forcing the three of them to lose their balance. Rachel lets out a curse. "Below," she finishes. "Get them to hurry up."

Thalia and Piper exchange glances, then hurry for the hatch with a single fleeting look.

"Can I do anything?" Jason's voice is calm, but the look in his eyes is anything but.

Apparently, Rachel noticed as well, so she says, "Go make sure Reyna's not wandering or anything, okay?"

Jason doesn't look completely happy with the assignment, but he nods, touches Annabeth's hand briefly, and bounds away.

"What's going on?" Annabeth manages. Her tongue feels numb to her, bumbling and useless in her mouth.

"Nothing," Rachel assures her soothingly. "Leo's just having a little engine trouble."

She tries to speak again, but her voice eludes her. Annoyed, she clears her throat. "Percy?" she attempts, hopeful.

"With…with Leo." Rachel's answer is strangely stressed.

Swallowing back a groan of pain, Annabeth makes her spine bend, in a weak attempt to sit upright. "What's wrong? Who's dead?"

Rachel forces her back into a lying position with a hard shove. "No one! There's just some trouble with the engines."

"What kind of trouble?"

Rachel's hand clenches and unclenches. "Um, well, we're kind of at a standstill right now."

"_What?"_ This time she doesn't bother with the slow pain of bending, and instead jumps straight to her feet. Pain shoots up her leg, hitting her head with the full force of a hammer. Her vision tints purple.

"Whoa!" The resounding sound of Rachel's knees skidding across the deck is doubly loud coupled with the deep pounding in Annabeth's head as she lands in Rachel's lap.

"Standstill?" she groans, closing her eyes against the spinning world. "Why in the name of Athena?"

"Didn't you hear me? Engine trouble." Rachel sounds officially irritated.

Annabeth puts a hand against her forehead. "Where are we?"

"36 degrees, 44 minutes north, 76 degrees, 2 minutes west." The grim, yet handsome voice still manages to send shivers down her spine.

She peels her eyes open to see Percy himself, looming over her, silhouetted by the sunlight like some glorious sea god. Her heart quickens, but she doesn't forget their occurrence in the hall so easily.

"Oh, no," Rachel murmurs. "Not good." She grabs Annabeth's arm and heaves her to her feet with surprising strength, quickly pushing her back on her makeshift bed as the world begins to whirl again.

"Why not good?" Annabeth questions confusedly. It's only after the words leave her mouth that she realizes how stupid it was, and that she'd heard those numbers before, years ago. "Oh gods."

"Hey, guys!" Leo's head pops through the hatch. His grime-smeared face is wrought with stress, a sight Annabeth wishes she couldn't see. "We have a problem!"

"What now?" Piper complains, looking on the verge of a breakdown. "Don't tell me you can't fix it, Valdez!"

He blinks at her. "Um, actually the engines are shot."

"So?" Thalia says. "Jason and me tossed the anchor a couple hours ago. Standstill." Jason nods appreciatively.

"Then why are we moving?" Reyna's ever-negative presence brings a cloud of doubt and fear upon them all.

"In circles?" Piper suggests.

Leo shakes his head. "I just checked," he says. He looks at Jason and Thalia. "You didn't check to make sure the anchor was tied off, did you?"

Two pairs of electric blue eyes stare back at Leo blankly. Percy swore.

"Wait, what does that mean?" Piper asks. Though she would never admit it, Annabeth can tell the large bump on Piper's head is affecting her.

"What does that mean?" she repeats.

"It means we're screwed," Leo explains bitterly.

Annabeth continues in a deadpan voice at Piper's embarrassingly confused expression.

"It means we're stranded in the Sea of Monsters."

* * *

**Okay, admittedly not my best work, sorry this is like a bridge chapter. Promise next one'll bring more action, yeah?**

**P.S.: The numbers Percy was saying? Those were the same numbers he'd said in the _Sea of Monsters_, just after Tyson, Annabeth, and he had escaped from the _Princess Andromeda_ and were floating out to sea.**

**Love you all, thanks for your reviews!**

**~ Mia ~**


	14. Calculated

**No recurring excuses. Just read.**

* * *

**14/Percy**

At this second, the only thing running through his mind is a string of curses.

There are no details to the memories, but he knows why his muscles tensed at Annabeth's words. He knows why the numbers he's just uttered sound so dangerous to his ears. And he suddenly realizes just how big a mistake boarding the _Argo II_ is to all of them.

"This is not good," Rachel says in a small voice.

Jason grabs a fistful of his blonde hair, as if he's going to rip it out. "No one's survived that in years."

Piper shakes her head. "I've heard the stories. Scylla, Charybdis, Circes, Polyphemus? No way we can last all of that."

Leo frowns in distress. "Piper's right. Getting through the Sea of Monsters without dying's a toughie."

Thalia looks troubled. Annabeth seems numb. Even Reyna dons a concerned face.

Percy can only stare at them in disbelief. Yes, he's unsure of almost everything now, but one thing he's completely certain about is his friends. He's seen them go through anything and everything—and now they're cowering in fear?

"Why are you so scared all of a sudden?" he demands abruptly, glaring at them. Seven pairs of blank eyes stare back at him, and he has to rack his brain for an explanation. "Jason," he says finally, out of pure desperation. "You fought and won against Krios back in San Francisco. Leo, you built a ship that can _fly_. Rachel, you nailed the Lord of Time in the eye with a blue plastic hairbrush for gods' sake! This is ridiculous!"

His eyes sweep theirs, all flooded with a mix of emotions. "I mean, Piper, I heard you kicked Drew's butt! Reyna, you're a Roman; where's your pride? Thalia, since when in Hades are you afraid of anything? And Annabeth," he rounds on her, "you've already done this, you can do it again! We've got the gods on our side, two whole camps at our fingertips, and we're some of the greatest demigods in the world! The Sea of Monsters couldn't stop just two of us, so how can it stop all of us together?"

His pep talk is extremely Hollywood, but even so, Rachel speaks up. "What are your orders, Commander?" she asks, with a faint smirk. A faint murmur of agreement leaves the others' lips.

The rest of his argument blows out of him unsaid in a sigh. A smile graces his mouth. "Leo, Thalia, get below deck and do what you can with the engines before we reach the entrance." The Hunter's look sours. She shoots a vicious death glare towards Percy before stomping after Leo with a distasteful face.

Percy grins after her, then continues his instructions. "Jason, Piper, get up to the sails and see if the winds can help us." Piper grasps Jason's hand as they walk over to the mast, Reyna's hard stare after them going unnoticed by all but Percy.

"Reyna," he says in a coaxing voice. "Check on our weapons arsenal." With a short nod, she obeys.

"Rachel," he continues, "meet me in the captain's quarters. We need to plan." The Oracle does not respond, instead following the footsteps of Thalia and Leo down the hatch steps.

"And you," he says, turning to Annabeth. She hasn't moved. She sits, back to the railing, a bandage taped to her cheek and her leg rendered temporarily useless. She stares at him with her big gray eyes, and something in his chest stirs.

"Don't look at me like that," he groans, collapsing into the space next to her.

The surprise on her face is enough to make his blood boil. "Like what?" she asks, confused.

He turns to face her, exasperated, only to find his nose—and more importantly, his lips—a few inches from hers. But he didn't move, and neither did she. Her breath danced across his cheek tantalizingly, making him swallow hard.

Almost shyly, he brushes a stray curl behind her ear. "When you look at me like that, I can't think of anything to say," he murmurs in a low voice.

If possible, she inches a bit closer. Her lips are now so close he can almost taste her. "Is that…why I always have to do the talking?"

"Sometimes it's better not to talk," he whispers.

"Well—" she begins softly, but he leans forward and presses his lips against hers. And he's all too happy to embrace the sensation of his brain melting through his skull.

The desperate need for oxygen has her pulling away first, leaving his heart pounding. He grabs her lovely face in his hands. "I do love you," he tells her solemnly. "Don't ever doubt me on that."

She graces him with a smile that melts his knees, but he manages to get to his feet and pull her to hers without looking like an idiot. "Come on," he says softly. "We've got planning to do."

As soon as they entered the captain's quarters, Rachel's eyes had flitted knowingly to their twined hands. Annabeth tried to yank her hand from Percy's, but he hung to her fingers tightly, giving Rachel a challenging stare. But the Oracle merely smiled, and they began.

* * *

After much argument and a very close call with a knife, Annabeth, Percy, and Rachel mutually settle on one route through the dreaded sea: through the Clashing Rocks (no one wanted to risk Scylla or Charybdis), around Circe's island, past Polyphemus's island, and to Greece, hopeful for a lack of problems along the way. Percy notices that, throughout the meeting, Annabeth took great care to make sure the route never came close to the approximate region of the Sirens' island, wincing whenever either Rachel or he spoke the name.

Judging from the glance Rachel gives him, she hadn't missed that fact either.

The three decide that the details of the plan would remain with them, for security reasons, on the common demigod suspicion that one never knows who's listening on the outside.

"Okay," Rachel says finally. "I guess I'll go tell Jason and Piper about the wind courses then."

Annabeth nods. "I'll show Leo and Thalia a couple emergency plans to fix the engines last-minute."

"Wait, what about me?" Percy asks, momentarily confused.

Rachel and Annabeth seem to contemplate this in unison. "Get Reyna to cooperate," Rachel suggests finally. Annabeth shrugs her agreement, then, with a slight groan of pain, gets up from her chair.

He's holding her elbow immediately, but she gives him an annoyed look and lightly pushes him away. "I'm fine," she tells him confidently. "I'll see you later." And with that, she limps from the room.

Rachel chuckles, shaking her head. "You've got it bad," she chortles.

He glowers at her in response, then walks out the door to find Reyna.

He finds her just where he told her to go: in the arsenal, far below deck. She's cursing when he enters the room, angrily throwing javelins into a pile.

"Hey," he calls quietly, trying not to startle her.

Attempt failed. She whirls around, javelin raised, but even when she realizes its him, she hardly lowers it. "What?" she snaps. "I'm busy."

He watches her for a moment before speaking. "I know. Thanks."

She pauses, standing up straight to look at him. "For what?" she asks curiously.

"For putting up with us," he responds. "I know it's hard."

She scoffs. "Greeks are such know-it-alls. They think they know everything."

He notices her deliberate lack of the word _You_. "We've all been through something," he counters after a pause. "Thalia, she ran away when she was twelve and got turned into a tree, not to mention losing her baby brother to the queen of the gods. And Annabeth? She—"

"Look, I don't want a sob story," Reyna interrupts. She holds a bow to the light at eye level, testing the string with a twang. "I don't know what it is with the people on this ship. I'm not the bad guy."

"I'll talk to them," he promises. "I can't make Piper like you, but—"

Reyna cuts him off with a snort. "Her? I hate her way more than she could ever hate me. I don't care what she thinks."

He backs down. "Right. I know."

Angrily, Reyna blows a lock of blonde hair out of her eyes. "Whatever. What do you want?"

"We've planned a course to Greece," he explains. "Just…keep the weapons ready, okay? You don't owe us anything else."

"Darn right I don't," she mutters, but he's already walking away, eager to leave her behind with her sorrowful, negative airs.

Annabeth is slamming the engine room door against a shower of sparks, arm shielding her face. Frowning, she raises her head to inspect the line of burns on her flesh. "LEO!" she shouts angrily.

"Sorry!" comes faintly from inside the room.

"Hey," Percy calls. She looks up. "You okay?" he asks, putting an arm around her.

"Yeah," she says with a smile. "Just a flesh wound. I'll put some bandages on it later."

Together, they make their way (somewhat slowly, as a result of her limp) up the stairs to the deck, where they find the rest of their friends in chaos. Piper's hanging from the sails like a monkey, yelling to Jason, who's dangling helplessly by the ankle from the ropes. Rachel, the only one grounded, is attempting to shout instructions to them both, but neither is listening.

Before either Percy or Annabeth can move to help, Piper makes a wild jump from her safe post and, with a clean swipe, cuts Jason clean. He drops. She manages to land on her feet; he lands on his back, groaning. Rachel rolls her eyes.

"What happened?" Annabeth demands, struggling to get to the final step of the hatch stairs.

Rachel sighs. "Jason fell and got tangled."

Piper helps her boyfriend to his feet. "It's his own fault," she mutters. "He was the one who climbed too high and slipped."

"Not my fault I'm not a chimpanzee!" Jason protests, testing his shoulder tentatively.

Annabeth gives a soft chuckle as the three of them begin to argue. Percy looks down at her quizzically, immediately tuning out his friends. "What?" he asks, squeezing her gently.

"Never thought I'd be doing this," she admits, turning to face the sea.

He follows. "Who would?"

"No," she laughs, "I mean, when I found you out passed out and drooling all over the Big House porch, I never thought I'd end up like this."

He smiles. "Yeah, well, I'm an interesting experience."

She nestles into him, resting her head on his chest. "That you are, Jackson."

* * *

By the time Thalia and Leo emerge, grease-covered and smoking slightly, it's nightfall. A small fire burns in the center of the deck, built (unsuccessfully without Jason) by Piper, who now lies, fast asleep, with Jason's head as her pillow. Rachel soothes their slumber with the sweet notes of her lyre strings, which Percy hadn't known she could play. A dark lump by the rudder he identifies as Reyna, tossing and turning fitfully.

He himself is situated as Annabeth's cushion; she sits contentedly in his lap, poking the fire's base with a thin rod absentmindedly. Glancing over at Reyna, he decides he'd rather not confront everyone about their coldness to her while she's present; instead he concludes he'll do it individually, the next morning.

Thalia thumps beside them grumpily. "Worst. Assignment. Ever," she hisses to Percy, along with one of her infamous dirty looks.

Annabeth chuckles. "How's it coming?"

"Fine," she snaps. "Food?"

Annabeth smoothly passes her a plate. "Food," she says.

The Hunter wolfs down the serving faster than Percy had ever seen her, then promptly lies back and falls asleep with a snore loud enough to make Reyna stir.

Annabeth covers her mouth to stifle a yawn. "Why am I so tired?"

He gently pushes her off him and lays back, letting her snuggle into him. "Those gears—"

Her hand creeps up to cover his mouth, cutting off his words. She gives a small sigh, and her breathing becomes slower, letting him know of her drift-off. He raises his head to look at her, his foot accidentally knocking over a plate.

Rachel's lyre notes, sufficing as soft background noise, pause in their sweet harmony, bringing their sudden absence to Percy's attention. Vaguely he senses the flutter of her blouse near his head, and her hand on his forehead, pushing his head back to the floor.

"Shh," she murmurs. "Sleep."

And with the honeyed tunes of Rachel's lyre lulling him, he follows Annabeth into Hypnos's grip.

* * *

**Ugh, sorry this is a bridge chapter sort of. I'm running out of ideas; got any? If so, PM or review so I can get this story moving. Also, if you were wondering why so long on the update, that is the reason. Practically out of ideas, and my plotline is getting tangled up in my head so I'm losing track of everything. Apologies, apologies, thanks for reading, blah blah blah, I'm in a rush, I think you can tell...**

**Byesies!**

**~ Mia ~**


	15. Icy

***singsong voice* I have a new chapter today! Two days in a row! Great, huh? Okay, I don't wanna ruin this for you, but I'm just saying that the pairing in here was kind of necessary for this to work, so don't kill me, yeah?**

**And according to Black-Rose-XXXIII's (otherwise known as Raikou) suggestion, I've decided to be a meanie (Raikou's words, not mine) and make Annabeth's worst nightmare come true. (Muahaha) So, Raikou: thanks a million for you idea, you get props for that :)**

* * *

**15/Annabeth**

Icy.

It's the only sensation she has when she opens her eyes. Chills dart through her like electricity, stiffening her spine and sending goose bumps running across her skin. Mist, gray and thick, dances around her, stretching out ghostlike hands to touch her.

Her name echoes around her. Her breath is stolen from her chest. Voices surround her, expanding in numbers until they join into the most haunting choir she has ever heard. They whisper her name invitingly, eerie voices beckoning from nowhere, beseeching her to join them.

She sways unknowingly to their song, a half-smile gracing her lips, her eyelids dropping.

_Come,_ the voices whisper. _Join us._

_Go,_ her body commands. Her foot moves to take a step. The voices' song grows louder, rejoicing her decision, dancing in circles around her, reaching for her. Her body obeys, drifting forward without thought.

_Stop!_ her mind protests. And she hesitates. Suddenly the voices are deafening in her ears, begging her to just come forward, to please, come with them. And she almost succumbs. A sense of clarity flashes across the back of her mind, but the voices drown it out.

Hands seem to reach for her from the wall of fog, fluttering her hair, seizing her hands, taking hold of her arms, dragging her toward them with all the power of their growing anger. Her feet seem to miss a step, and suddenly she's falling.

Cold bursts from her feet to her head, and the undeniable feeling of sinking settles in her mind. Her lungs forget how to breathe. Her eyes forget how to see.

Light banishes the dark away abruptly. What stands in its place steals her heart.

He smiles at her, blue eyes twinkling in a way that makes her wish she could remember how to speak. His hand raises in slow motion, beckoning her.

And she's running. Reason is left in her footprints. Memories are flying behind her in the wind. She's almost there, just a breath away. She reaches—and touches nothing. She stares at her hand, where black wisps are already disappearing.

She's suddenly conscious of cold arms winding around her, the icy nose nestling in the crook between her shoulder and throat, the arctic breath washing over her skin.

She's turning her head, meeting the steady, iced blue eyes that haven't lost the power to turn her bones to stone. The blonde hair that seems to have leaked its color away. The pale lips that are ever so slowly coming closer to hers.

She's not breathing. She hardly registers the need that's bursting her chest, only the anticipation that's controlling her brain.

She can feel him without looking, so, so close. Inches away. She can feel the chill of his lips without touching them, tantalizingly near.

And just as he's about to take her heart from her throat, a jolt wrenches through her.

And she's being dragged away. She's kicking and fighting and punching what she can, but the tight grip around her doesn't loosen. She screams an empty name, reaching for what she can't have.

He doesn't move to help her. He stands unmoving, hair dipping in his ice blue eyes, his cold lips stretching in a cruel smile.

She's falling again, hitting the unseen ground, but doesn't react. A painful thud jostles her heart. Once, twice, three times. She can vaguely hear her name being called desperately in the distance.

She gasps, her eyes flashing open. She's vomiting saltwater before she can even register the clear blue sky above her, or the lingering cold of her wet clothes.

She's floundering in a panic, tears pouring down her face, calling his name in sobs. A slap stings her cheek; she grasps it, gasping in pain. Breathing hard, she looks up with wide eyes to see a silhouette rimmed with gold staring grimly down at her.

Sadness creeps like ice over her chest, hand in hand with realization. She brings her knees to her chest slowly, staring at nothing in shock. A sob rips from her throat, followed by another, and another. Suddenly she's sobbing her heart out at the figure's feet, coming to the worst understanding she's ever had to endure.

The Sirens.

* * *

She's huddled in a blanket along with the others, each of them with a heartbroken expression etched across their faces. Reyna had been the one who'd rescued her, tied her to the railing to be safe, and thrown her a blanket.

Her wounds had miraculously healed—something she suspects isn't a miracle at all.

Reyna is the only one calm. She walks around the ship and them, checking the rudder, steering, going below deck to look at the engines, doing all their jobs for them.

"Hey."

Her voice startles Annabeth. She looks up at her somewhat-sister, shaken, and takes the cup of whatever-it-is gratefully. "What happened?" Her voice is hoarse.

Reyna tilts her head. "I was wearing earplugs," she admits. "Greeks snore loud, you know?" She continues without waiting for Annabeth to respond, "I saw you get up—you looked kind of weird, like you were confused—and then you jumped. The next thing I knew, the rest of them," she waves her hand at the others, "were all wandering around the deck, yelling and shouting and climbing over the rail to jump like you did. I tied them down, then jumped to grab you before you drowned yourself." She shudders. "The Sirens are one of those things I wish I could unsee."

"I didn't think…" Annabeth murmurs.

"What?"

A flashback: sitting just like now on the Queen Anne's Revenge, explaining the same thing to Percy. "I didn't think they'd try to trap me again," she says finally in a soft voice.

"Again?"

"I was here once," she recalls. She shivers. "They almost had me then, and they almost got me now." She curses.

"They're famous for luring sailors to death with their songs," Reyna says wisely. "Who says you're to be any different?"

Annabeth isn't listening. She's staring at the horizon, eyes growing wider and wider with each passing moment, the realization expanding in her mind until she explodes.

"Percy!" She jumps to her feet and races over to him, shaking his shoulder.

"Huh?" He stares at her blandly, blinking.

She grabs his head. "Percy, 30, 31, 75, 12! 30, 31, 75, 12!"

His eyes pop. He's up in a flash too. "Oh my gods! 30, 31, 75, 12!"

"What are you talking about?" Thalia snaps.

"30, 31, 75, 12!" they shout at her.

"What does that mean?" Leo demands.

"I still don't even understand how we ended up at the Sirens' island!" Piper cries, distressed.

Jason rubs her arm absentmindedly. "Pontus _is_ on Gaea's side," he reminds her.

"Change course!" Annabeth realizes. "We have to change course!"

"I got the sails!"

"I got the rudder!"

As they run in opposite directions, Reyna and Thalia step in their path. Thalia glowers at Percy. "What does 30, 31, 75, 12 mean?"

Reyna cocks an eyebrow at Annabeth, as if thinking the same thing. The couple glance over their shoulders at each other, making a silent decision.

"30, 31, 75, 12 are the clues the Gray Sisters gave us a few years back," Annabeth explains.

"They're the exact nautical coordinates of the Cyclops's island," Percy finishes.

There's a silence as the eight of them stare at each other in horror.

"I got the sails!"

"I got the rudder!"

* * *

Sitting with her back to a wall hours later, she can't stop thinking.

A second encounter with her greatest fear (beside spiders) doesn't help her nerves any more than the thought of losing Percy does.

She stops at that. She'd completely forgotten about that. How could she have? So many problems are crowding her brain she doesn't know if she can think clearly anymore. So many worries. She can feel it taking its toll.

"Stop that."

She looks up to find Percy looking down at her. He sits beside her. "Stop what?" she asks.

"Biting your nails."

She holds her hand in front of her face confusedly, studying the vigorously chewed nails, and isn't surprised to find she doesn't care. She puts it back under her chin.

His face grows serious at her lack of response. "Are you okay?"

She pretends to think it over, but really she knows she isn't okay. She can't shake the Sirens' taunting image from her mind. His eyes, so chilling, so beautiful. The cool feel of his skin on hers. The terrifying thought that she had wanted nothing more at that moment than for him to kiss her. She rubs her shoulder irritably, wishing she could wash away the feeling.

"Annabeth?"

She realizes Percy's waiting for an answer. "Fine," she says. It sounds unconvincing even to her. The spark that ignites in his sea green eyes proves her theory that he knows she's lying to him. She sighs in rare defeat. "Percy—"

Piper's voice cuts her off, coming from the stern.

"Do you have to be so negative all the time?" she demands, stepping closer to Reyna with her fists clenched. "Gods, you're like a constant damper! Don't you have any hope that we can actually kick Gaea's butt?"

"Do you have any hope that you and Jason will last?" Reyna shot back poisonously.

There's a second of split silence as Piper stares at Reyna's smug look. Her scream of frustration cuts through the moment, making the five others jump in surprise. She tackles Reyna with the full force of a very angry daughter of Aphrodite, barely waiting for gravity to pull them to the floor before punching the Roman girl furiously in the face again and again.

Leo is the first one to shake off the shock and lunge for the girls. "Piper! Reyna! Stop!"

The girls bat him away like a rag doll, forcing him to stumble back into his sister. Thalia's blue eyes flash. Rushing forward, she grabs Piper around the waist, kicking and punching, and throws her to Leo and a quickly-recovered Jason, who do their best to pin her down.

Reyna is more difficult to control. With a wild battle cry she makes a mad dash for a struggling Piper, shoving past Thalia like a bull and heaving Annabeth aside. She hits the ground with a thump,

Jason jumps to his feet, and grabs Reyna, attempting to hold her back. For a brief moment it looks like he can hold her. But it seems Reyna has other plans; one punch to the cheek and Jason falls, giving Reyna way.

Percy quickly jumps Reyna, pinning her shoulders down with his hands and her arms to her sides with his legs while she kicks her own. Jason staggers back up and rushes over, trying to pull Percy off.

Percy swats at him in annoyance, trying to say something to Reyna. Finally, with no luck, he scoops her up and carries her below deck.

There's silence until he returns, and suddenly there's a look on him that Annabeth doesn't know. It's proud, commanding, demanding. Dangerous.

"What was that?" he yells at Piper, making her flinch.

Jason steps in. "Don't talk to her like that," he says in a low voice.

"I don't care," Percy snaps. He glares at Piper. "Are you starting fights now, McLean?"

"I said," Jason's eyes narrow, "don't talk to her like that."

"Move, Grace." Percy shoves him aside.

In a split second, something flashes in Jason's eyes. Annabeth recognizes the look; she'd seen it in Thalia many times before, on their ventures years prior. It was something she could never ignore, never disobey.

In Jason, it's the same thing. Except almost a hundred times more dangerous. She runs in between them. "Jason, Percy, stop," she says sternly.

"I'll stop when he does," Percy sneers.

She looks at him in surprise. She's never seen a side like this on him. A hand on her shoulder shoves her to the ground—shocked, she stares up at Jason with her mouth open.

Percy pushes him. Hard. "Don't touch her!"

Jason tackles Percy to the ground immediately, delivering punch after punch to the other boy's jaw.

"Jason! Please!" Piper's charmspeaking, Annabeth can tell. Jason pauses, expression confused, long enough for Percy to put a blow to his stomach, throw him off, and jump up.

"Percy!" Annabeth shouts, but she can't stop him.

Her mind is running at overload speed as she watches the two boys fight to what looks like—but she hopes isn't—the death. She looks around wildly; Thalia's watching them with wide eyes. Piper's staring helplessly. Rachel's biting her lip so hard a drop of blood oozes out. Leo's mesmerized into not doing anything, with an amused expression on his face.

Desperate, she grabs a nearby beam of wood, rushes over, and crashes it over Jason's head. He drops. Piper cries out.

"What are you doing?" she yells at Percy.

"I'm fighting a son of Jupiter, what does it look like?" he shouts back. The icy, insane look on his face hasn't faded, and with a jolt, she realizes she doesn't recognize him.

"Who are you?" she demands. "I don't know you!"

"What are you talking about!"

"You're not the Percy Jackson I know!" she tells him, stepping closer.

"Of course I am!"

"You ignorant Kelp Brain!" she shouts. "Can't you see what you're doing? You're not _my_ Percy! You're nothing like him!"

"You don't know anything, you stupid _Greek!_"

Dead silence. Shock plays on everyone's face; even his. Hurt dances across hers for just a second, then fury takes its place. _"Fine."_ Her voice is coated in freezing ice—deadly, the kind of tone no one would ever want to hear from her.

And in one final gesture, she snaps the beam of wood over his head and flings the pieces in his face, turning on her heel and stalking away with two final words thrown behind her:

"We're _over_."

* * *

**There you have it. Mind-blowing, huh? Well, I can't say that for you; it was like that for me, but I guess because I was writing it. I'm sorry if you're not a Lukabeth fan (if you are, yay?), but what else would Annabeth have longed for, right? (That's a rhetorical question, btw. Don't answer that.)**

**The fight scenes were totally last-minute, non-expected, out-of-nowhere. I did not think I would be putting that in there; it kind of took control. I think it's pretty awesome, but I'm truly sorry about the Percabeth break-up.**

**Don't worry, it won't last...or will it? (wink wink)**

**Thanks for all your support and ideas, guys**

**~ Mia ~**


	16. Silence

**Yay, I have over a hundred reviews! *wipes tear* I'm so proud! As a reward, here is the long-awaited chapter. I had serious writer's block, and I think I've left you hanging long enough. So, here you go!**

* * *

**16/Percy**

Silence.

It's ringing in his ears as she stomps off, her last words still hanging in the air like a neon sign.

"_We're _over_."_

By the time he's ready to throw another barbed comment at her, she's gone. The wood she'd used to hit him with lay in pieces at his feet; the assault hadn't hurt, but he's furious all the same. She might as well've given him the finger, her nose in the air, _superior_ as she was.

This time, he hasn't won. The illusion of victory is beginning to fade. He doesn't feel anymore enlightened than if he had kicked a defenseless puppy. Instead anger persists in him, clouding his reasonable thoughts.

He's suddenly aware of eyes—too many eyes—on him, most set in the faces of his shocked friends, all stunned into silence, which, deep down, he appreciates more than anything else.

Still, he hates where he's standing, in the place of humiliation—the place he's always been stuck in. With _her_ on the other side, nonetheless. He can't stay here, so many eyes relishing in his defeat.

So, without another thought (or word) he runs, and dives off the edge of the ship.

Hitting the water is a breath of fresh air. A feeling of focus settles over him, his anger and frustration fleeing along with the flurry of white bubbles, leaving him like a long-awaited sigh.

_Son of the Sea God! Son of the Sea God!_ The tiny voices in his mind make him suddenly aware of the small fish surrounding him, half-hidden behind coral or plants, eyes awed.

He doesn't even try to shoo them away, just lets himself sink to the bottom, uncaring as to how their little stories will fly.

Looking back, he doesn't know what had gotten him so angry. Perhaps it was because Reyna had dared to disobey him; he, after all, outranked her. Romans don't appreciate defiance, no matter the person. He and Reyna are no exception, he knows that.

_Or, maybe Annabeth is right._ He shakes his head immediately after that thought. He doesn't care how smart she is, she's wrong for this once. He's the same Percy Jackson he's ever been…right?

He looks up at the bottom of the _Argo II_, slowly drifting away on a slow current. He's beginning to think this was a big mistake.

He doesn't know why, but he's more than cautious when he commands the water to lift him upwards, stopping when his eye-level is just above the floor and scanning the ship. To his luck, there's no one on deck. Satisfied, he walks off the cushion of water, somewhat quietly.

He doesn't know—or care—how many hours he's been gone. He only knows that he'd rather not be ambushed by any of the crew. _Her_ in particular. He feels sneaky, creeping around the deck towards the hatch, planning to flee for the boys' cabin and hide.

His Roman side flares at the idea. _Hide? What proud Roman soldier hides in the face of battle?_

His Greek side acknowledges the circumstances: an angry ex-girlfriend, and the need to protect himself.

"So," a voice says begins behind him. He whirls around and swings Riptide wildly, only to have it met by Reyna's spear, though how she managed to get there without him seeing her was a mystery.

They stare at each other wordlessly for a second, he anticipating another annoyingly deep speech, she awaiting his response with raised brows.

He doesn't bother to put away his pen, straightening and eyeing her warily. "_So_ what?"

"So now you know." She twirls her spear, and it melts into a thin flashlight dangling from her belt. She clasps her hands behind her back.

Tired of games, he scowls at her. "What are you talking about, Reyna?"

"What it's like to be me," she says vaguely, which upsets him even more. She rocks back on her heels once, then, with a slightly smug look on her face, skirted around him, leaving her words to float behind him like a cliché haunt.

"An outcast among outcasts."

"I hate you, Reyna," he growls. A laugh bubbles from the hatch, and he wonders why she's suddenly so cheerful; he hasn't seen her smile since the second she set foot on-ship.

The idea of Reyna happy on a ship full of Greeks who all despise her is just too unlikely; the only conclusion he can come to is that she's got some sort of scheme in mind. But what, he wishes he won't have to know.

He stands there for a moment, listening to the wind whistling through the sails, enjoying the spray of the sea, wishing he could be anywhere but here.

_Clap._

His ears perk at the sound.

_Clap._

He turns in a circle, confused. He even glances down the hatch, as if Reyna's still hovering, clapping for some bizarre reason.

Then he realizes. They aren't claps. They're _clashes_, like…

Like the sound of enormous boulders crashing together.

"REYNA!" He shouts the first name that comes to his mind. Two seconds later and the Roman girl is by his side, spear ready for battle.

"What? What?"

He grabs her spear and lowers it. "Listen." Just as she falls silent, multiple pairs of footsteps thud behind them and all eight of them are present, each staring curiously at Percy, then Reyna, then around the ship.

"What are we doing?" Leo whispers loudly.

Piper smacks his arm. "Shh!"

The crashes are steadily getting louder in Percy's ears. "We're getting closer," he announces.

"They're clashing." Her voice sends a ghost of frustration and anger through his mind, but he refuses to let it cloud him again. He refrains from looking at her.

"What?" Jason asks. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He can't stand the old sound of wisdom in her words. "After the first Jason made it through the Rocks, they stopped moving. Legend is the gods made them a monument to Jason's success. This isn't good. I was expecting them to be still so we could sail through…"

"What are we going to do?" Thalia asks.

He can almost feel the determined look on her face. "We're going to fly over it."

Everyone exploded.

"Annabeth, we can't—"

"FLY? There's no way—"

"Are you crazy?"

"The Rocks—"

"SHUT UP!"

Two words, and he has them all choking on theirs like their lives depend on it. When he turns around, they're all staring like fish, mouths gaping and eyes bulging, as if it was a miracle that he could speak at all.

Gods that makes him angry. One mistake and he's Kronos? One mistake and she's a victim? One mistake and he's a shamed leader?

"The _lamiae_ tore our engines to bits," he reminds them, a harsh tone in his voice. "We can barely float, let alone fly. We sail through, take our chances."

"No." Jason's defiant voice announces his resentment before he pushes his way to the front. His blue eyes, identical to his sister's, are hard with what is clearly his last straw, though why he's declaring it now, Percy doesn't know. "We tried your way," Jason says fiercely. "It didn't work. So we fly."

"It could kill us all," Percy retorts begrudgingly.

Jason snorts in a very son-of-Jupiter sort of way. "Like sailing will be any better? The Rocks are moving, Percy. We'll be a pancake."

"How would we even get into the air?" Percy asks harshly. "And even if we did, what would stop us from falling between the Rocks anyway?"

He can sense the tension level rising. Jason's getting more and more daring with him; the others are confused as to which leader is best; he's getting angrier every standing second.

Gods, he wants nothing more than to punch Jason Grace when the boy says, with a condescending tone only a child of Jupiter could muster, "We won't."

He must have taken a step towards Jason, because the next thing he knows, another voice is speaking, one he never wants to hear.

"We're wasting time," she says, a little quietly. "Every second you two fight over our plans, the closer we get to the Rocks, and our chances of flight get slimmer."

"She's right," Thalia announces. "Jason, Percy, stop it. We fly, and if that fails, we sail."

Jason nods haughtily, arms crossed. "Right then. Thalia, Leo, go check with the wings, do what you can."

Thalia groans loudly in protest. "Why do I always get stuck with him?" she complains.

"Piper, you and I can stow away the oars."

Piper nods obediently.

"Reyna, get in position by the rudder. You're steering this ship."

Pleased with a suitable task at last, Reyna smirks.

"Percy, take care of the sails. We can't get anywhere with them up."

Percy's face hardens at the order, but otherwise he doesn't respond.

"Annabeth, Rachel, try to figure out our next move. The charts are all in my bunk. Go."

They're all facing Percy now. At Jason's words, they glance at Percy, as if his second opinion matters more than following his orders.

He gives a slight, reluctant nod. However angry he is at him, he's the opposite leader. He can't humiliate himself in front of them, or he may lose the little power he has over them.

At the faint sight of approval from him, the crew rushes to their tasks; Thalia and Leo descend back into the hatch, Piper and Jason behind them, Reyna saunters over to the rudder, and Rachel settles in a small corner, lyre in hand, waiting for Annabeth.

It takes only his name for him to realize that Annabeth's still standing behind him, no doubt with a guilty expression, as if she'd _hurt_ him.

"Percy…"

But he walks away without another indication of her presence, sitting beside Rachel instead. A flick of his finger and the sails curl in on themselves, his task done in an instant. He glances at the redheaded Oracle.

"Well you're angry," she remarks.

He sighs. He should've known she would be the one to comment on his predicament. "Yeah, well…"

She doesn't say anything for a moment. He looks at her curiously to see her holding her lyre as if it were the most sacred thing in the universe, a grin across her face. "Watch this," she says suddenly.

A stroke of the strings, and the shouts of the others are nearly drowned out. He's suddenly amazed at the way her fingers dance across the cords, chased by music that he never knew she was capable of. The notes seem to prance in his ears and before his eyes, drowning his mind in the sweet tunes.

She flashes a smile. "Orpheus's lyre," she informs him. "Apollo lent it to me."

He stares at her. "Lent it?"

She shrugs. "I asked him. He was kind of surprised, but I guess he thought it would help."

"Orpheus's lyre?" he repeats.

"I figured it wouldn't hurt," she muses. "I mean, this is the same music the first Argonauts heard on their adventures. I'm hardly good enough to stop the Clashing Rocks, but at least everyone has something to listen to." She adds another stroke of the strings to her melody, grinning.

"Since when can you play a lyre?" he demands.

"Clarion taught me to play the harp," she explains. "A lyre isn't too different." She frowns. "Look, Percy: whatever's going on in the kelp head of yours, fix it. Annabeth's not going to be around forever you know."

"Yeah?" he answers gruffly. "Well, neither am I."

* * *

**Dun dun dun dun! Hopefully you heard that in your heads. If not, epic fail. Thanks to all of you who reviewed and helped me along the way. If anyone's got any ideas at all, PM me, because I can use all the help I can get. Thanks again! :)**

**~ Mia ~**


	17. Focus

**Okay guys, I'll skip the pleasantries, since I have to go in like two minutes, but I thought I'd save you from the suspense :D I'm really sorry about how painfully short this is AND how long it took me to write it, but I'm running out of inspiration quick, so, fellow writers, I don't think you can really blame me. Never fear, however, for this story is not over yet!**

**Enjoy! :D**

* * *

**17/Annabeth**

Focus.

A constant variable. Focus is what she's never had trouble with. Focus is what got her through everything.

But now, sorting through Jason's messy bunk, she doesn't want to reminisce on all the dark reasons why her focus was needed in the first place; she'll only make herself homesick.

And homesick she is. She misses the times when everything was so simple—or, at least, simpler than now. When everything was so easy. She misses his easy smile, the twinkle in his eyes, the way he used to tease her.

It's gone now, though, and she knows it. And more than anything she knows she has to move on, but…she's stuck.

If anyone asked her, she would profess the cliché: he was great, he was fine, she was simply tired of him, it was over. If anyone asked if she loved him still…she would lie.

One thing she can't deny, however: her focus is being irrefutably screwed on this voyage. She doesn't even know how long it's been since they left shore—nor does she care. All she wants is for it to be over with. For it all to be over with.

She saw the way the corner of his mouth twitched when Jason spoke his refusal. He was angry. No, not angry—_furious_. She heard the control in Jason's voice, the need to be in charge, and suddenly she understood the danger of having two powerful leaders—whose very different sides undeniably hate each other—on the same ship.

She hadn't noticed that Percy was the one in command, with Jason resigned in the shadows. She hadn't realized that Jason was the one letting Percy have his reign. She hadn't seen it because it'd simply always been that way. Percy in first place, she right behind him. She never thought Jason would try to switch their positions—but he succeeded.

And the next thing she knew, he was commanding the whole crew about. But there was one moment of hesitation—just one second where everyone's eyes flicked to Percy and lingered there, waiting for any sign of approval.

And she knew he had just a tiny sliver of leadership left.

Now, walking up the hatch halfheartedly with Jason's charts in her hand, she wonders what kind of game the gods are playing.

_A dangerous one,_ a voice breathes in her ear. _Be cautious, Annabeth._

She whirls around in surprise, but the hall is empty. "Hello?" she calls stupidly. But there's no answer. Feeling foolish, she climbs the rest of the steps to search for Rachel.

The lilting notes of her distinctive lyre pull her eyes to the red-haired girl herself, whose head hovers close to Percy's as she murmurs a few low-keyed words, her playing becoming louder to drown out her voice.

Percy snaps back something intelligible, jumping to his feet and stalking away so fast it's a wonder Annabeth saw him at all.

Her eyes narrow slightly. Rachel stares after Percy with a strange look on her face, her music fading drastically. Her fingers freeze on the strings; her face is like stone. Suddenly Annabeth's ears are reeling in protest at the resounding sound of a string snapping.

The lyre clatters to the floor. Rachel falls over as she starts to seize rapidly, choking on her own breath.

Jason's charts are fluttering to the deck, but Annabeth abandons them without another thought, dropping to her knees beside her friend. "Rachel!" The Oracle's green eyes are wide with fear and confusion, her mouth gasping for air she can't breathe, grabbing at her throat.

Suddenly she's clutching Annabeth's shoulders so hard her fingernails dig into the girl's skin, threatening blood. _"The lost ones will rise,"_ Rachel rasps, but her voice echoes, as if a million Rachels are talking at once.

"_Beware!"_ Her eyes are overcome by their green until there are no pupils, no whites. _"Beware the lost city!"_

On the last word, Rachel's eyes roll up into her head and she collapses, her nails leaving red tracks on Annabeth's arms.

"Rachel?" Her flesh stings, but she ignores it. She's relieved to feel her friend's pulse beneath her fingertips, but Rachel's eyes remain closed to the world, her skin deathly pale.

"You're bleeding."

His voice, to her displeasure, hadn't lost the power to make her shiver. "She has sharp nails," she replies dryly, glancing down at the blood oozing from her wounds. She refuses to allow herself to look at him, crouching beside her.

"Anything I can do?"

She sets her teeth on her bottom lip to keep in a sarcastic reply. "No," she says shortly. "Rachel's aftermaths are usually quiet. All she needs is rest. Just…just go get some water or something." Her words are sharp despite her efforts. Immediately she puts her walls up, expecting some sort of angry flare from him.

"Okay."

The simple indication of acceptance catches her off guard. His fingers brush her shoulder just slightly as he stands—but they linger on her skin far too long to be accidental. She closes her eyes against the feeling, along with the undeniable movement of her hair, which she forces herself to ignore.

When she dares to glance behind her, there's no trace of him anywhere, except perhaps the hesitating scent of him, taunting her.

She looks at Rachel, letting out a breath. "Gods," she whispers. "What am I doing, Rach? One second he's Perseus, their praetor, the next he's Percy, my boyfriend." She frowns. "What should I do?"

But Rachel only shifts peacefully in her unconscious state, providing Annabeth with no answer. Leaving her lost.

"The others are coming up soon," Reyna's voice reminds her quickly. "Pull yourself together or they'll see it all."

Annabeth looks up at her somewhat-sister in surprise. "Yeah," she says quietly, quickly recovering. She wipes a rebellious tear from her cheek, sniffs, and prepares herself.

"How long have you been there?" she asks.

Reyna's mouth twitches ever so slightly. "Long enough," she replies vaguely. Annabeth snorts, looking back at Rachel.

"Pipes, I know you're sensitive about this, but I think you're supposed to use Leo's retract button to pull the oars in…not saw them in half." Jason's voice precedes his blonde hair from the hatch.

"Shut up, Jason." Piper's irritable words do the same for her. "I didn't do any real damage."

"You stabbed me."

"Nicked you. By _accident_."

Jason's exasperated sigh is cut off by Piper's slight gasp of surprise. The two of them stare open-mouthed at the sight of Rachel unconscious in Annabeth's lap.

"Oh my gods!" Piper exclaims. "What happened?"

"It's nothing," Annabeth assures them. "She just had a vision."

Jason's eyes flash to her in suddenly piqued interest. "Vision?"

Annabeth purses her lips. She opens her mouth, but falters when another voice chimes in.

"She needs to rest, Jason."

Jason's ambition is suddenly obvious at the sight of Percy behind him, holding a canteen in his hand. His eyes flare like sparks. Even Piper looks confused at the sudden competitiveness in her boyfriend. "Jason…"

He ignores her. "What did she say?" he demands.

She searches his eyes, but she doesn't know what she's looking for. A sign of leniency, or retreat, perhaps. Yet there's nothing but determination.

Defiance tightening her voice, a frown tugging at her face, she caves. "She said—"

"Everybody hit the deck!" Leo's voice screams the warning seconds before he charges up the hatch and tackles both Jason and Piper to the floor.

Annabeth stands frozen. Someone pushes her to the ground, but just as she hits the floor, a wave of fire erupts out of the hatch, slapping her with heat.

She screams. The weight of her savior presses her against the moist deck, shielding her with arms so tightly coiled around her that she can't breathe. The rancid smell of smoke invades her lungs, making her cough. And the next thing she knows, the weight is gone.

"Is everybody okay?" Leo asks, getting up.

A strong arm around Annabeth's waist pulls her to her feet, but she doesn't look at the owner. "Leo, what the hell?" she demands angrily, tugging herself away.

Leo shrugs. His round face is smeared with soot and his hair is singed, but otherwise his grin is still in tact. "No idea. Thalia was—"

"Thalia is _not_ to blame this time." Thalia herself walks out of the thick haze of smoke, eyes blazing, slapping out the gleam of fire on her arm. "Leo, why didn't you tell me you left the wiring couplets out? This never would've happened if you—"

"Whoa!" Leo puts his hands up in a stop everything motion. "It isn't my fault either!"

"Well, I didn't do it!"

"What? Your zapping started this!"

"Guys!" Jason yells. He looks at both of them. "Is it ready?"

Leo and Thalia exchange looks, for once silent.

"Yeah, Jason," Leo says. "It's ready."


	18. Soaring

**Wow. I can't believe myself.**

**You know what? I'm so tired of telling you I'm sorry, all I can say now is that my "vacation" is over. Thanks to a concerned reader, I'm back, with a _long_ chapter. This won't happen again, I promise, but I can't guarantee anything for when school comes back around, I'm sure you understand. **

**Thank you all for your reviews in my long absence! I won't disappear again.**

* * *

**18/Percy**

Soaring, flying, it's all the same. Being suspended in the air with nothing to stop you from hitting the ground except for air and, as he sees it, an unstable air craft.

He's not so sure. No, he has no doubt of Jason's powers, however annoying he may be. He has no doubt in Leo's repair of the ship's controls, though he thinks it a miracle that the _Argo II_ could sail at all. It's not Reyna's hand at the rudder, or Annabeth's ability to chart their route once airborne, or Thalia's fear of heights. There are a thousand variables that he's not scared of.

In fact, when he tries to think of a real reason, the only one he can come up with is the glimmer in Jason's eyes. A glimmer that, Percy can tell, Thalia is not seeing past. Her own eyes are sparking dangerously, and he knows he's not the only one stepping back. Before she can say a word, however, another voice cuts in.

"Jason." Annabeth's between them in a flash, one arm held behind her back, seemingly to keep Thalia at bay. Her fingers form a series of positions quickly—and after a minute Thalia relaxes, brooding. It takes a second for Percy to realize she's using sign language—something he had no idea she knew.

"You can't just fly," Annabeth continues, eyeing Jason as if he were a parasite. "There are precautions to take. We have to measure trajectory and distance—and how do you expect to get into the air anyway? We don't exactly have a runway."

"We have more than enough children of Zeus on this ship," Jason retorts, almost arrogantly. "What's going to stop us? Wind?" He laughs.

Percy can feel the tension rising, though apparently Jason can't. He sees Annabeth's eyes harden. Thalia's grip on her bow tense. Rachel's eyes beginning to flit from person to person.

"Leo," Jason commands, "start up the flying sequence."

They can all see Leo's hesitation, trying to decide between the expectant glare of his best friend to the stone-cold face of Annabeth. Ultimately, he takes a step towards the hatch.

"Leo, stop." Annabeth's voice freezes him in place.

"Annabeth's right, Jase," she asserts, glaring at her brother. "I don't like the way you're acting, and I'm definitely not going to fly in this boat if we're going to crash and die."

"Me neither," Piper folds her thin arms across her chest.

Jason scowls. "Every second we waste, the less of a chance we have," he snaps. When he receives no response, he scoffs in disbelief. "Fine. I'll do it myself."

He shoves past Annabeth's shoulder deliberately, and Percy can see she's restraining herself from stopping him quite yet.

Percy isn't so careful. He's watched Jason from the second he met him, keeping him a constant figure in the corner of his vision, never letting him out of his sight if he could help it. He doesn't trust him, but standing by while the scene unfolds, he realizes Jason is exactly like him: struggling with a decision he's begun to doubt, trying to take control of a ship full of stubborn demigods who are all slowly turning against him.

Jason's only a few steps behind of where Percy is now, metaphorically. He won't let Jason do that to himself. He knows how much he'll regret it.

But before he can take a step, thin fingers band around his upper arm, stopping him. It's Annabeth, but she doesn't speak, only gives him a warning glance. Then she disappears after Jason.

It suddenly registers to Percy, after a moment of staring at her, that a warning isn't the only thing she's left behind, but when he fingers the old fabric of the Yankees cap in his hands, he can only assume that this one was by accident.

He's not sure if the others saw him pick it up where she left it, but he hides it behind his back anyway.

"If he figures out how to start up the sequence…" Piper trails off, looking almost terrified.

Percy looks at the concerned faces of his friends, and not one of them seems to notice him stepping towards the hatch until he warns, with Annabeth's cap still in his hand:

"Hold onto something."

He doesn't know why he followed her; perhaps it's a ghost of the old need to protect her, or perhaps he just wants to keep an eye on Jason. Or maybe it's the unspoken possibility that she left behind her hat on purpose, and she wants him to follow.

Surprisingly, he finds doesn't care anymore. He simply can't let it go.

"…Jason, what the hell is your problem?" Her voice makes him freeze, just outside the engine rooms. It takes some thinking to decide to smash Annabeth's hat on his head and slide into the room.

"None of your business." Jason's answer is short. He curses in Latin. "How do I turn this on?" He's glaring at the damaged panels with the full force of an angry child of Zeus.

Annabeth doesn't answer the question. Percy studies her. She rests her hand on Jason's own, stopping him as he reaches for a random switch. "Jason," she stresses the word. "What's wrong?"

There's a pause. Then, "Everything!"

A million emotions are packed into the burst. Jason clutches his head, and Percy finds he can relate.

Jason's ranting suddenly. "Reyna's here and Piper's mad, Nico's gone and Percy's being a—" he called his rival a name that made Percy's eyebrows shoot up "—and Rachel's predicting mass destructions again, and—and I don't think Thalia even trusts me anymore and—"

"Jason, stop." She's got her hand over his mouth, silencing him. "I know it's hard. And Percy is being…well, strange, and so is everyone else. But it's going to be okay, got it? Piper's not going to dump you, Reyna will accept reality, we'll find Nico, and Thalia loves you."

Jason sound so vulnerable he's like a child. "What about you?"

Percy can sense the hesitation in her silence. "I'm…I haven't decided yet." She takes a breath, and she places her hands on the controls. "Look, I'll turn the wings on. But it's not for you. It's so we can all survive and Thalia can't kill you in the underworld."

Jason gives a weak laugh. "I think she'll do that anyway."

"This isn't over, but go," she orders. "I got this."

Jason stares at her, then seems to make a split-second decision. _"Aliquam,"_ he says in Latin. He puts his hand on her shoulder, pulls her forward, and _kisses her full on the mouth_.

Percy can't believe his eyes. He's almost about scream, but chokes on it. He resolves to punch Jason instead, when he remembers they can't see him. And she isn't his anymore.

Besides, she beats him to the punch. Literally.

Suddenly her fist is propelling Jason away from her with so much force he's flying backwards, past Percy, who's got an undeniable grin on his face.

But then he sees the direction Jason's going in. He lunges forward, but it's too late—

"NO!"

She screams the word just as Jason crashes into the large industrial switch behind him and Percy hits the floor, mission unaccomplished. Sparks burn into Percy's skin, forcing his eyes to water in reflexive tears.

And suddenly the world goes dark.

Percy's sword is out in an instant and he's relieved to find an illuminated Annabeth blinking at him in Riptide's faint light. He whips off the hat.

Annabeth's eyes blink. "Percy?"

"Annabeth?"

"Ow," Jason groans from the floor. He looks up at Annabeth blearily. "Sorry I…you know."

Percy glares quite obviously at the other boy. Annabeth ignores him, clearly uncomfortable and angry. "It's okay," she tells him, and Percy swears it's just to annoy him. "Sorry I punched you. Reflex."

The floor jerks beneath their feet suddenly, throwing them all to the ground before Percy can do anything. All memories of kisses are forgotten.

"What's happening?"

Annabeth pulls herself to her knees, grinding her teeth as the ship shudders. "It's the flying sequence," she gasps, sinking back down. "I started it."

A pipe bursts abruptly, spraying Percy with burning steam. A scream echoes from the deck: "RACHEL!"

"Rachel?" Annabeth jumps to her feet.

The ship rumbles again, then tilts so sharply to the left that Percy slides into a sparking control panel and Annabeth trips into Jason's lap. They shove each other away awkwardly, eyes flicking to Percy nervously.

But he's not paying attention. He's staring in wonder at the ship's wooden-planked ground, at the undeniable sensation that they're…_leaving the water_. His heart jumps into his throat and he curses himself for being so scared. For feeling like an animal, trapped in unfamiliar territory.

"Oh my gods," Annabeth whispers, looking awed. "Do you feel that?"

"We're flying."

"HEY!" Thalia's voice echoes down the hatch. "If any of you would like to get your butts up here, we have a MAJOR PROBLEM!"

The three of them are up in a flash, sprinting towards the hatch as fast as their legs can possibly carry them, ignoring the fact that they're all stumbling at the same time.

Even before he reaches the deck, he see, through the bit of hatch in his vision, that clouds are racing past the ship like fog. He can feel the movement of the water gone, and worst of all, the fact that they're about a hundred feet in the air and _rising_.

He manages to get to the top first, after what feels like eternity, but…it's no victory.

Thalia's braced against the walls, bow out, shooting at a dark shadow that twirls around the ship. Reyna's tangled in the sails, throwing knives like darts into the clouds. Piper and Leo are at the stern, holding a rope that looks as though it could pull their arms off. And Rachel…was nowhere to be seen.

"Percy!" Piper pleads. "Help us!"

He's beside them in a flash, ready for anything. Anything _except_ the sight of Rachel Elizabeth Dare dangling by a single rope over the surface of the water.

"Help!" she screams.

He immediately seizes the rope and begins to pull. He's just thinking about how heavy she is when he hears a horrible word come from Thalia's lips (that, for once, isn't a cuss word).

"Harpies!"

A cold hand grabs his abruptly. He almost drops the rope, then realizes it's just Rachel. He pulls her over the rail, and the weight of her makes them both fall. He lets her curl up against his side in shock, but he's not paying her any of the attention she needs.

He's focused on the more pressing problem at hand: dark, winged shapes zooming around the ship in chaos, screeching and trying to snatch up anything they can.

"Oh my gods," Leo muttered. "What are those things?"

"Harpies," Rachel gasps. "Phineas' punishment." Her eyes flash green, but it's gone so fast its presence is questionable.

"Who's Phineas?" Leo asks.

"A king who revealed too much of the gods," Piper replies, huddling up near them, covering her head with her hands. "The harpies were his tormentors. They'd steal his food every day and eat it in front of him so he'd starve to death."

Leo looks like he wishes he hadn't asked. "Are they poisonous?"

"No, just deadly."

"Oh." A thoughtful look comes over his face. He's tangling the rope up in his hands, seemingly dazed, but then he jumps up abruptly, and does one of the most craziest things that Percy has ever seen happen on this ship.

"_For Narnia!" _he yells. He thrusts his hands0 into the air, and, with a wild battle cry, leaps off the ship and into midair.

"LEO!" Piper screams.

For a fraction of a second everyone's frozen—even Leo, plummeting in slow motion to what seemed like his death. He slips through Jason's winds, misses Thalia's instant net, and vanishes into the clouds, leaving absolutely no hope.

A screeching harpy dives towards Percy, gnashing beak wide open. In an instant he jumps in front of Piper and Rachel and uses the flat of his blade to send it reeling.

"Any sign of him?" Jason yells.

"No!" Annabeth shouts back.

"Die already!" Thalia bellows, furiously shooting a passing harpy. It snaps at her, then ultimately decides that the best way to protect itself from her is to knock her off her feet.

As soon as she hits the floor, the harpies swarm for her, like predators finding a wounded animal. Percy can hear her swatting and stabbing them, but she is completely obscured by their ugly bodies, and no one can escape from their own attackers to help her.

But just when he thinks she's on her own—

"YEEE-HAW!"

Another harpy slices through the clouds like a knife and scatters the others in the blink of an eye, leaving Thalia unharmed.

The harpy, screeching and flapping wildly, smashes into the deck with the speed of a meteorite. A dark, smaller shape, rolls off of it, and using a rope, finishes strangling it.

"Yeah!" it yells, throwing up its hands. It jumps up in a funny little dance, triumphant. "Take that!"

It takes a few moments for Percy's fuddled mind to realize it's Leo, and that the harpies have gone. Confused, he tries to think past the swirling of his head, why the sky doesn't stop spinning. He's vaguely aware of the others sitting at their respective places, dazed, just as lost as he is. His vision focuses momentarily on the rudder, which is, right now, the fate of the ship. One wrong turn and they're all dead.

The problem is, even seeing double, there's no one steering.

And he's the first one—perhaps the only one—to spot the sea hurtling up to meet them, more deadly than he's ever ready to believe.

* * *

**Oh, this is too fun. Is it understandable that I make it uncharacteristically hard to even get in the air, only to bring them down? I hope so, because coming up is a twist that's somewhat common in the fanfiction world, but will still hopefully have you on the edge of your seat.**

**Sorry to say I can't tell you what it is, not quite yet.**

**And don't worry, I've defeated my writer's block and now I have more than enough ideas to keep this going. Believe me, it's not over yet.**

**Thank you for your comments and your support everyone! Next chapter's already in progress.**

**~ Mia ~**


	19. Dead

**Hello again! I haven't left, don't worry. I'm back with another chapter :) Aren't you so happy?**

* * *

**19/Annabeth**

Dead. Can she be dead? That's how she feels, though she isn't quite sure if you can feel pain even after death. Opening her eyes slightly, she catches a glimpse of sunlight before slamming them closed again. Her bones ache, her skin burns, and her tongue is so parched it feels like sandpaper. No, she's not dead. She's seen the underworld. There is no sun there.

Besides, she isn't good enough for Elysium.

Water laps at her body as if it's trying to be soothing, but all it does is fill her mouth with so much salt that she gags. The sun beats down at her face mercilessly. The sand she's lying on sears through her shirt, but she doesn't move. It would only excruciate her to do so.

It hurts to even breathe. The simple movement requires an insane amount of effort. She coughs, and seawater scalds her throat coming back up. She sinks back to the sand, ignoring its bite into her cheek. She no longer cares.

_S_he forces her eyes open. Her vision is warped, the sun invading far too painfully to see. She blinks hard. And the picture clears.

She's on a beach somewhere, with crystal waters stroking the sand and beautiful trees lining the shore. She doesn't recognize it. Where is she?

Or, a more important question: how is she going to get back to the ship? It all floods to here. The ship. Where is it? She tries to lift herself up, but slumps back down with a groan when the beach tips sharply. It must have crashed.

Then, where is everyone else? She can vaguely remember the harpy attack, Leo's jump, the confusion as the world started to spin. Suddenly she remembers Percy, with his face inches from her own, shouting at her something she couldn't remember. What did he say?

It's where her memories become fuzzy. She curses herself. Why can't she remember? Why?

She's so overcome with frustration and exhaustion she almost blacks out, but a thought keeps her wide awake. It occurs to her that maybe, just maybe, she won't make it out in time. Maybe the gods don't want her on this voyage after all. Maybe she wasn't one of the seven in the first place.

Maybe Nico was all along.

"Hello."

She's so startled, she swears her heart actually stops. She groans, blinking hard against reflexive tears, trying to make out the dark silhouette hovering over her, but all she sees is a few glinting strands of hair in the sunlight. No face.

But the voice is young and clearly belonging to a girl—a girl who may be able to help her.

She swallows, then concentrates hard. Finally she manages to force her vocal chords back into use and rasps, "Where?"

The girl leans down, face still hidden in shadow, inspecting Annabeth's own face curiously. "Nowhere," she says. "And yet, everywhere." The head turns up to look at the suspiciously beautiful environment, then back down at Annabeth. "Who are you, anyway?"

Annabeth tries to think clearly. She doesn't know this girl. For all she knows, she could be a flesh-eating monster in disguise, or a sorceress in-training to a witch like Circe, or well, anything. But she takes a shaky breath, wets her chapped lips, and answers as strongly as she can, "Annabeth Chase."

Everything, including her strength, is ebbing away as the girl begins to speak, but her words reach Annabeth even after unconsciousness takes over.

"Oh, Mother would _love_ to meet you."

* * *

When Annabeth wakes again, there is no sign of the girl. In fact, there is no sign of anyone. She's lying on a wrought-iron bench, surrounded by green, alone. Above her hovers countless trees, all weighed down by colorful fruit whose sweetness fills the air. The scents of herbs and soil enter her nose.

She sits up, then winces as pain pierces deep into her left arm. Looking down, she stares wide-eyed at the sling keeping her arm tightly in place. She doesn't have to move it to know it's broken.

A rustle in the trees snaps her attention from herself. Out of pure habit, she reaches for her knife, supposedly strapped under her sleeve. She is shocked to find she isn't even wearing her own clothes.

Instead, she's draped in a white cotton dress. There is not even a speck of dirt on her arms or legs, the only thing marring them being the denting scars she bears from the _lamiae_'s teeth. Her hair is free of smoke and grease, brushed to a silk curtain hanging to her shoulders.

She swings her legs off the bench and stands, scanning the foliage for any movement whatsoever. There is none. Still, she knows it's not wise to doubt herself. Her ears don't lie. "Hello?" she calls. Her eyes dart around. She wishes she'd thought to find a weapon first, but it's too late. Someone is already stepping into the clearing.

It's a girl—a young woman, really—of nineteen or twenty years. She's dressed in a sleeveless blue chiton, the neckline rimmed in silver. Two locks of her caramel hair has been braided around her head to resemble a crown, and, if nothing else, makes her even more beautiful. She seems entirely calm, despite Annabeth's defensive posture.

"Hello, Annabeth." Her voice is naturally soft, almost musical. A singer's voice.

Annabeth tenses. "How do you know my name?"

The woman tilts her head. Her almond-shaped eyes study Annabeth with cold interest. "Percy talks in his sleep."

Bam! It's as if someone has just punched Annabeth in the stomach. How could she be so stupid? She should've known, from the second she saw the garden. This is the girl who nearly took Percy away from her. This is the girl who almost changed him completely. This is the third, and by far most threatening (at least, to Annabeth) girl to fall in love with him.

This is Calypso.

But what is she still doing on Ogygia? Annabeth distinctly remembers Percy asking Zeus for her freedom after the war. She almost expected Calypso to pay him —them—a visit, but was glad to find she never did.

Annabeth never thought the gods would put them together, ever. But it seems they have a darker sense of humor than she assumed. Because this is not funny.

"I'm on Ogygia." It's not a question. Calypso nods in reply anyway. Annabeth frowns. "You're on Ogygia." It's more of an accusation, really, but she can't help it. "Percy had your freedom granted."

The nymph sighs. "Yes," she admits, fingering a long, silky leaf. "He did. I chose to stay here." The way her face is arranged is almost a scowl. "The world is in such disrepair."

"How did I get here?" Annabeth demands. Her fists are clenched, but only Calypso notices.

"You washed up here," Calypso answers. She's surprisingly mild. "Only a day after the boy."

"Boy?" Annabeth asks, distracted. "What boy?"

Calypso gives an elegant shrug. "He isn't alone," she says. "I have my…I have someone taking care of him."

As if on cue, another person, significantly smaller than Calypso, pushes through the leaves. "Mother, he's awake," the girl from the beach announces. Her eyes—her _sea green eyes_—flick towards Annabeth in question.

Annabeth stumbles back. Those eyes aren't hers. No, she knows them too well to fit into that face. They belong to Percy Jackson.

After that realization, it appears that one feature after another begins to look all too familiar to Percy's. The nose, the mouth, the build, even the eyebrows are his, just slightly more feminine. The only thing to distract from the remarkable resemblance is her hair, the caramel of Calypso's own.

Annabeth can't find her voice. It's all she can do to stare at Calypso in horror. No, she can't be. They couldn't have. He… _He_ wouldn't have. But the evidence is there, staring her right in the face, proof that Percy isn't the innocent hero after all. That he isn't what she thought he was.

And to think, she had just started to forgive him.

Calypso quickly sees Annabeth's distress. "Did he say anything?" she asks, fast.

The girl senses Calypso's urgent tone. "He said his name is Jason," she says swiftly.

Jason? That sends another blow to Annabeth. What kind of game of the gods is this? It's bad enough she's on Ogygia, but Jason too? Is he hurt?

She remembers him kissing her back in the engine room, Percy's angry face, and wonders if this is Aphrodite's doing. But she can't worry about that now. Not when this Percy look-alike is standing in front of her.

"Give him some of the brew I made him," Calypso instructs the girl. "It will break his fever." This last part seems to have been added for Annabeth's benefit, though why Calypso would be trying to help her, she doesn't know.

The girl nods—she already knows this. But she lingers. "Mother…" she says, looking at Annabeth.

"Chloe, go." Calypso's sharp order sends Chloe running back in the direction she came. And she's gone.

Calypso looks mournfully at Annabeth. "It's not what you think," she whispers, eyes widening when she realizes what Annabeth is thinking. She takes a step closer, and looks a little hurt when Annabeth takes a bumbling step back. "We never… I made her myself," she blurts. "Ilithyia owed me a favor."

Ilithyia. Goddess of childbirth. Annabeth faintly remembers the name, but she doesn't care. She's staring in utter disbelief at Calypso, who appears to be panicking. "Percy went back for you, I know it," she urges. Pleads. "He said so in his dreams. I heard him."

"Then what," Annabeth has finally found words as she points after Chloe, "is she?"

Calypso's expression is pitying when she finally meets Annabeth's gaze, who, even before Calypso speaks, feels the hope for Percy dying inside her. The punch in her stomach turns to a stab when she hears the words.

"Percy's daughter."

* * *

**Wait! Before your mouth drops open in horror/anger/disgust, I'm not done. Hopefully, the next chapter will be up by at least Sunday, since I'll be preoccupied tomorrow. I'm going to Knott's all day (for those of you who know SoCal)! For those of you that don't, it's an amusement park.**

**Sorry if this is all too cliché. I thought about having Percy meet his own daughter, but that just isn't as fun. Having Annabeth do it is so much more harmful to their relationship :D Will I ever patch Percabeth together again? Or will Jasabeth emerge from the ashes? ****(Muahaha!)**

**And where is Percy and co., anyway? Hm...**

**~ Mia ~**

**P.S., Chloe _is_ Percy's daughter, but, like Calypso said, not the way you think. All will be revealed by Sunday or earlier... Hang in there.**


	20. Drowning

**Okay, so maybe I did disappear, but it wasn't my fault! I swear! My brother accidentally deleted all ideas and drafts of this chapter, so I've been scrambling to write at square one for the past few days. I would've had it up sooner, but my dog is gross and her messes are apparently my job to clean up, so, apologies.**

**But here is the chapter of which I am so entirely proud of.**

* * *

**20/Percy**

Drowning.

It's never been a problem for him, and until he met the real Grover, he never knew why. Before, he could only imagine what it was like to flounder for air, but now he doesn't need imagination.

His friends seem to be unconscious, sinking limply through the water—fast. He knows they don't have much air left; even now, the stream of bubbles escaping their mouths are slowly diminishing.

Thinking quickly, he uses his control of water and a length of rope to leash them tightly together as a sort of human raft, then pushes them to the top, where they float somewhat.

He scans them, counting. Thalia, Reyna, Leo, Piper. One, two, three, four. Four? That leaves Jason, Annabeth, and Rachel.

But where are they?

He starts kicking for the "raft" immediately, but someone screams, stopping him cold. It's so desperate it's audible even underwater (though its little more than a high-pitched gurgle), and he spins around.

It's Rachel, pinned under by a thick beam, flailing and sinking fast. Her eyes are wide with fear. He dives. He can see her losing air, by the way the movement of her limbs starts to slow, and her body starts to go limp.

He hasn't realized till now he's been holding his breath—in fact, his last breath of real oxygen that he hasn't let out—but he's glad for it. So, with little else to do, the first thing he does when he reaches Rachel is grab her face and press their lips together.

He can feel her struggle in shock, then she relaxes when he gives her what air he has. He rips the plank away from her, hooks one arm around her middle, and creates a small whirlpool beneath his feet to propel himself to air.

She doesn't attempt to swim, clinging to him still, but he's not paying her any attention. He's having what would normally be classified as a panic attack. The makeshift raft he made? To keep his friends' heads above water? Annabeth? Jason?

There's nothing there.

It's just him and Rachel.

The feel of her digging her nails into his shoulders like claws has him tensing in pain; she's ripped away from him before he can move a muscle. He turns, and only has time to see Rachel's terrified face disappearing into the darkness.

He calls her name in a gurgle of bubbles, starting to swim after her, but the rock is jamming its way into the back of his skull long before he can save her.

* * *

"No." A voice, a girl's, stirs Percy from his nightmare-filled sleep. "I will not keep them here," she continues angrily. "It's not safe."

Percy's head throbs. What hit him? He keeps his eyes shut, not daring to open them. Is he dead? No, no, he would've been waiting to be judged by now.

"For us?" an oddly familiar voice asks. "Or for you?" Percy frowns. He knows that voice, but he can't place it.

The pain in his head reminds him he has other things to focus on. His location, for one. Eyes still closed, he takes a breath cautiously. Air, not water. His fingers brush the rough cushion he's lying on. Hemp, or something like a carpet. He can't tell the difference.

His eyes strain to see through his eyelids, a useless endeavor. There's only a hint of pale blue beyond the natural darkness, but he's almost afraid to look for real.

He doesn't want to know, really. He ends up in so many dangerous places.

It takes the girl's answer for Percy to realize there's been a long silence between the two voices. "You know the answer to that already," she says icily.

"Do I?"

"Stop playing games! We both know there's a good chance you'll all be killed if you stay. So go. I don't want you here anyway."

_Killed?_ The word sticks in Percy's brain. He slips his hand in his pocket, his hand curling around Riptide. He doesn't know where he is, or who's keeping him there yet. It's best for him to appear asleep, to take his captors by surprise. Until he knows who (or what) it is, he can't be too careful.

"I wouldn't expect you to. But if you want my help, you're going to have to care for them. For now, at least."

Silence.

"Fine," the girl spits finally. "I hope you know what you're doing."

"Me too."

There's a huff, then the thumping fades away. Percy hears the boy sigh. Then there's a wave of icy air, and nothing.

He waits. One second, two seconds, a minute, five minutes. Finally, he dares to open his eyes. For the first time he realizes he's lying on his side, his nose inches from a tightly grass-woven wall.

It takes entirely too much time to roll over on his back, but new pains inform him that it's the right precaution to take. Upon further inspection, he finds his right leg heavily bandaged, and two of his fingers in a crude splint. He doesn't need to move them to know they're broken.

He discovers he's even more sore than originally thought when he sits up, having momentarily forgotten his injuries. The simple movement makes his teeth clench. The darkened room tilts at an odd angle, then rights itself before he can do anything about it.

Weakness passed, he strains to make out what's in front of him. He seems to be inside a hut of some sort, made of rough dry grasses. They're tied together so firmly hardly any light comes through, which he's thankful for. Judging from the brightness, it's high noon, and the heat definitely won't help him.

He's sitting on the ground, with nothing but a thin blanket to serve as a mattress. An oil lamp sits near him, extinguished.

Tentatively, slowly, he crawls onto the floor, ultimately unable to stand. The cool earth feels good to his parched skin. He sighs contentedly.

Someone's behind him. He's alerted by, oh, the shift of cloth, the huff of air as it moves. He whips around suddenly, which turns out to be a mistake. Pain resounds in his head and spots dance in his vision, and he has to grit his teeth and concentrate hard to make it pass. When it does, he finds himself nose-to-nose with Rachel Dare.

"Rachel?" he whispers.

"Percy?" Her voice is weak. He can see her eyelids flutter, as if it's an effort to keep them open. Even if he tries, he can't see the rest of her body, and he realizes it's because it's buried underneath a pile of blankets. Still, she's shivering visibly.

"What happened?" he asks. "I don't… All I…" He frowns, unable to form words.

Rachel's head does some sort of crazy bob, and it takes him a moment to realize she's trying to shake her head. "I don't know, exactly," she murmurs. "They took us."

"Who took us?" The amount of urgency in his voice unnerves even him.

She scoots farther into her blanketed cocoon. She reminds him of an animal, the way her eyes glint in the dim light, the way she burrows deeper for protection against a chill he doesn't feel.

"Rachel?" He feels like he's trying to coax her out of her shell. "Who took us?"

He almost doesn't see it. If he had looked away one mere second before he does, he would've missed it. But then again, it would be hard to miss the flash of serpent green in her eyes.

She shudders. Her voice drops to a barely audible mutter, but the word is so prominent he hears it.

"Romans."

Suddenly he's aware of the stirring in the room. He dares to raise his head, bearing an abrupt tolerance for his pains, and can just make out the shapes of three other people before a door he'd never noticed opens and blinding light forces him to cower like a child.

But no pain comes. A thin, work-roughened hand grips his arm, and pulls him to his feet. Another hand comes around his ribs, half-dragging him from the haven of darkness into the painstaking brightness.

"Oh, good, he's awake," a girl's familiar voice calls.

"Yes," the person holding him says calmly. Another girl. He squints. Yes, he can see now, though it's nothing more than colors, blurred together. Blue, white, green.

"Anyone else?" There's that voice again. The boy's. To his frustration, he still can't figure it out. It's torturous.

"The Dare girl." The girl holding Percy places him onto something soft and shifty. Sand. Warm fingers brush his cheek, and he feels the touch of friendship.

"I'd better get her," the second girl says. "Who knows what defense lessons her daddy paid for?" A snort of laughter. The creak of the door. Silence.

His vision is slowly clearing. He blinks repeatedly, impatient. Finally, he can see. And still, he has to rub his eyes to make sure he's seeing right.

"_Nico?"_

The son of Hades smiles at him across the fire. He holds out a cup of something, which Percy takes, dazed. "Yeah, it's me," he admits. "Good to see you're back."

Back? He fumbles to hold the cup properly and think at the same time. "How long have I been out?" he manages to ask.

"Two days." He turns in surprise. The presence of the other girl had slipped his mind. She's about their age, he observes, with intelligent eyes and auburn hair. His first instinct is to distrust her; he doesn't know her. But he glances between her and Nico, sees the look they exchange, and decides to go ahead and trust her.

Besides, if she wanted him dead, he would've been.

"Percy," Nico says patiently. It occurs to him he's been staring at the strange girl, silent. He looks at him expectantly. "This is Julia. She saved us."

Julia gives him a weak, forced smile. "Hello."

He only frowns at her. "Where are we?" he asks Nico. The smile drops off both their faces. Julia looks away.

"You mean you don't know?" Nico questions carefully.

His brows furrow. "Where are we?" he repeats.

"The Sea of Monsters," Nico tells him, but he knows that's not the truth. Not all of it.

"Where in the Sea of Monsters?" It troubles him. He doesn't know their coordinates. It hurts to try. She's the only source of information he has. And she's lying to him.

"The Atlantic," Julia says, her voice sharper. Warning. But that's not the whole truth either.

"Stop playing games, Nico." His voice has regained the strength it once had. "Tell me where we are."

He hates the way Julia and Nico meet eyes, as if they know a secret and he's not trusted enough to know it.

"Nico!"

"Percy, you need to rest. It's not important—"

"It's important." Rachel's behind them, wrapped in a fur pelt, looking saner than she had been only minutes before. Reyna hovers at her side, worried, but doesn't silence her. "I know where we are."

"Rachel," Nico tries, but it's no use. She's already talking.

"The Bermuda Triangle, the Sea of Monsters," she shoots at Percy. "What does it all mean?"

His fuddled mind scrambles to put it all together. "W-what?"

"The Rocks, the monsters, all these dangers, why are they here?" Rachel's eyes gleam. "They're protecting something, Percy. No, guarding."

Confused, he looks from Reyna's impassive expression to Nico's clenched jaw to Julia's shamed face. Rachel is not lying. But guarding? He's not understanding. Not yet.

Rachel takes a trembling step forward. "What's worth guarding here, Percy?" she demands. "What's so dangerous that the gods would rather we die than reach it? What is it, Percy?"

"I don't know!" he shouts back, because he doesn't. He's so overwhelmed he can't think, and she knows it, and deep down he's almost sure she's enjoying the moment. "I don't know. What is it? Tell me."

"It's the lost city." Her voice is a whisper now. "The very proof that the gods banish defiance."

"We're in the place of my exile," Julia whispers. "An island just above my home."

And then he gets it, long after he should've. Just before Julia announces the answer in her small voice, and still it makes no sense.

"Atlantis."

* * *

**Surprise! Nico's back!**

**Now I can finally start working on the next chapter... Who - or what - exactly is Chloe? The answers will be revealed... On the next chapter! Stay tuned, my friends!**

**~ Mia ~**


	21. Numb

**Alright, here's your next chapter: Annabeth on Ogygia, trapped with the beautiful, immortal Calypso, Percy's old flame, Chloe, Percy's potential daughter, and Jason, who's earned a new interest.**

**What could go wrong?**

* * *

**21/Annabeth**

Numb. It's a strange feeling, most would agree. The sensation that, well, there's no sensation at all. It's somewhat disconcerting, how skin, on some deep level, can feel what's under it, but at the same time feels nothing at all.

She marvels at it now, as her fingertips scrape along the surface of the stone bench, curling into a white fist. She wonders why she gets the same sort of feeling in her when she looks at Calypso, who sits across from her, wearing an expression she can't place.

Annabeth eyes her. It's hard to look at the nymph without getting angry. She's so lovely, so sweet, so...persuasive with her large eyes and happy composure. No one could say no to that face. Annabeth resists the urge to shake her head. It's sickening, almost. How could anyone, let alone Percy—a seaweed brain, in and of himself—turn down this beautiful girl? For Annabeth? What is Annabeth compared to Calypso?

Calypso opens her mouth, then closes it, yet another attempt to explain herself. Annabeth doesn't encourage her. She won't even meet her eyes. Why should she? She doubts she wants to hear the origin of Chloe's existence.

But the silence becomes too much to bear. "Talk," she says finally, cooling her gaze. Calypso's eyes dart up, suddenly hopeful. Annabeth frowns. She doesn't want to see any trace of hope. "Start from the beginning."

Calypso looks down at her hands. "Percy was not the first hero to come here," she admits quietly. "But he was the last."

Annabeth blinks. She knows, before Percy, there were many who washed onto Ogygia's shores. Odysseus was one of them, and it was well known that Calypso had held him here for nearly seven years before the gods ordered her to release him. It suddenly occurs in her mind that, perhaps, all the men that Calypso received weren't exactly her decision, but she brushes that away. For now.

"He was troubled," Calypso recalls, her brow furrowing. "He would talk of things I did not understand, mostly in his sleep. Daedalus, the labyrinth, Tyson, Rachel, Nico, Grover…" She paused. "You."

She stops again, but Annabeth gives no response.

"I admit," a light blush appears on her face, "that I did not want him to leave. He had stayed for a matter of days, I believe. Time is never easy here. But even in such a small period, it was easy to…" She trails off, but Annabeth knows the end of the sentence. _It was easy to love him._

"He did not stay, despite my offer," Calypso continues. Her speech has quickened, as if sensing Annabeth's rising impatience with the explanation. As if she's nervous. "I believe something in the outside world was more important than I was." She glances down. "That he would rather salvage what he could than be here, waiting for someone else to do it."

Silence. "And?" The demand is brooding at best. Calypso's lip trembles. Annabeth scowls, determined to keep herself from pitying her. Still, the sympathetic thoughts crowd in. Calypso was simply a girl, after all, whose love left her. Who's to say Annabeth would be any different?

She scolds herself mentally. She's contradicting herself, comparing and contrasting herself to Calypso, trying to determine if she was truly meant to be with Percy after all.

Clearly not.

Calypso sighs. "And he left." It takes a moment for Annabeth to remember what the nymph is talking about, having been lost in her own thoughts, and remembers in the instant of Calypso's hesitation. "I…did keep his clothes. I grieved as if he were dead, because he could have been. Easily. I don't get much news here. Hermes never appeared to tell me anything.

"But Ilithyia came to me. She had time to visit with me briefly." Calypso's eyes lock on her fingernails. "I helped her, once. One of her sons came here, nearly dead. I healed him."

"She offered to repay the debt," Annabeth guesses in a monotone.

Calypso nods. "I missed him," she blurts. "I so wanted him to return, though I knew I would never see him again." She blinks back tears Annabeth tries to ignore. "I gave Ilithyia his clothes. She gave me Chloe." Calypso glances over her shoulder, as if expecting someone to be listening. "She's almost exactly like him," she whispers.

And there's that silence again, the one that can only happen between two rivals that don't really want to be rivals at all. The one that makes it all so unforgiving. Annabeth lets it extend beyond reason, mainly because she has nothing else to say.

"What now?" she manages finally.

Calypso stands, shaking her head. "I'm afraid I don't know." She slumps slightly. "I don't know much anymore."

And, as Annabeth follows Calypso into the green, she can only think of how true the nymph's words are.

* * *

Testing them for what seems like the hundredth time, she places her fingers ever so slightly at the tips of Jason's blonde hair, teasing the strands lightly. She's irritated to find she can't feel it, not really. He does, though, somewhere in his herb-muddled mind, and stirs, making her freeze.

It seems like an eternity ago that Calypso had fed—or rather, forced—one putrid herbal mixture after another down Annabeth's throat, rendering all senses technically useless.

She sighs. She'd given up all hope of planning hours ago. Briefly, she revisits the thought of stealing Calypso's only boat, loading Jason inside, and taking her chances in the Sea of Monsters, but casts it away almost immediately. It'd take more than Calypso's whole hoard of food and water to make it back to Florida. _It's better than being here,_ she thinks sourly.

Again, she glances at the cave entrance. Outside sways Calypso's precious plants. Fountain water gurgles. Birds sing. But there is no trace of Calypso herself. Or Chloe.

It's still surreal. The notion that Chloe could—she thinks the word firmly—be Percy's daughter. _I gave her his clothes. She gave me Chloe,_ Calypso had said. What does that even mean? Is that possible? Frustrated, Annabeth tugs at her own blonde hair, mostly because she knows it is.

Jason's mumble captures Annabeth's attention instantly. Shocked, she looks down at him. Does everyone look younger when they sleep? Because she swears it takes years of Jason's hardened demeanor. With his furrowed brows, pouted lips, and curled position, he looks like…a child.

Hesitantly, she takes his hand. He shifts, and his fingers tighten, as if he knows. She doesn't know why she feels guilty. Oh, but that's a lie, because she knows exactly why. Even touching Jason feels traitorous because of Percy.

She frowns. She and Percy are over, aren't they? She distinctly remembers smashing wood over his head and screaming at him. She should be free from that, shouldn't she? Which begs the question: why does she feel as though she's still his?

She doesn't remember falling asleep, but the next thing she knows she's snapping awake, the sound of crunching twigs alarming her. She's surprised to find Jason's head in her lap, and shoves him away awkwardly before thinking.

To her dismay, his blue eyes flicker open.

"Wha… Annabeth?" he mumbles.

Another crunch stiffens Annabeth's back. She whirls towards the cave entrance, ready for anything, anyone to walk through, but only finds—Chloe.

The small girl walks not far away, just near the back of the cave, where a silk screen—aged and faded, but still a spring green—hides what Annabeth guesses is her "bedroom." Chloe raises her eyebrows in a way that is too mature for her age. Her green eyes flick from Annabeth to Jason. A hint of curiosity flares in her expression, but she doesn't act upon it.

"Good," she says simply. "Mother was worried." Then, without another word of either explanation of her presence (or attitude), she disappears behind the screen.

Silence. "Where are we?"

His voice is so weak she never would've believed it's his. She turns, surprised only for a moment, before she overcomes her foolish blunder. She doesn't answer. Instead she takes his arm gently and says, "Come on. Let's go outside." She helps Jason to his feet and makes for the door, throwing one cautious look at Chloe, who, hidden from view, does not move to stop her.

Jason puts nearly all his weight on Annabeth's shoulder, who grimaces, but finds that she doesn't mind so much. When she helps him sit on a carpet of grass, he looks pale under the greenish light, sickly even. Not the tall, proud Roman leader she had come to know. No, they couldn't leave, even if they had the resources. Jason would never last without Calypso's magic.

She's beginning to think it's no coincidence. Any of it. Jason and Percy's personality changes. Reyna's presence. Annabeth on Ogygia. With Calypso. And Jason, who'd already kissed her once.

She doesn't want to believe it, but it's clouding that annoying part of her brain that just won't stop thinking about it. It all seems to be orchestrated to create just the right amount of tension, just enough to make it…entertaining.

And then she almost laughs, because it's so ridiculous. She sobers suddenly. Because then again, it's not so ridiculous after all. Everyone knows the gods love a good show.

Maybe that's the real problem.

"Annabeth?"

She's glad for Jason. She doesn't want to be alone, because being alone gives you time to think. And maybe you don't always like what you're thinking. So she smiles, albeit a little weakly. "It's good to see you awake."

"How long…?"

She shakes her head. "I don't know." She turns to stare at Ogygia's phantom, surreal beauty. "Time is never easy here."

Jason is quiet for a moment, pondering. "Where _exactly_…are we?"

"Nowhere," she says, repeating Chloe's words. "Everywhere." She barely sees Jason's frustrated expression, but still knows it's there. If it's anything besides their blood that demigods hate, it's riddles. So she makes it simple, clear. "We're on a phantom island, Jason. Ogygia."

She can see him struggling to make the connection, from Greek to Roman history. She sees the widening of his eyes, the frantic turn of his head as he surveys what's around him, and knows exactly what's going on in his head.

"No, they won't kill us," she assures him. "They're against violence." She doesn't know if that's really true, but she wouldn't be surprised if it was.

"Calypso," he mumbles. "Odysseus?"

"Yes," she whispers.

"How…" He stops. His hand fumbles around in the grass. He stares at it, as if it's not obeying him. Finally it moves to touch her fingers. She stares too, because, even though Calypso's herbs have long worn off, she can't feel him. Not even if she grips back.

"How do we get back?"

"We're lost." Her voice drops to barely audible. "And I don't know how to get found." She turns to him, suddenly frustrated. She's supposed to know. She's supposed to be the one who gets asked. She's supposed to be the one who can snap her fingers and just whip the solution out of thin air. She's supposed to have all the answers.

"Do you?" she demands of him. She searches his eyes, for answers—any answers. Just something to make her feel safe. Something to make everything better. A band-aid. A piece of candy. A mother's kiss.

But they're blank. There's no hint of that electric charge that made them spark so often, or the determination that so repeatedly moved him. There's nothing at all. Nothing to help her. She's on her own.

And then the feelings—anger, frustration, hope—are gone.

Almost as if they were never there at all.

* * *

**That was too fun to write :) Makes you want more, doesn't it? Me too. Good thing I'm the one writing it.**

**Next chapter: Who exactly is this mysterious Julia? Where has our long-lost friend Nico di Angelo been all this time? What's all this talk about the famous lost city, Atlantis? Are Percy and Annabeth ever going to see each other again?**

**Well, I guess you'll just have to find out.**

**~ Mia ~**

**P.S.: My school's first day is Monday, the day after tomorrow ('cause today is Saturday, you know, and tomorrow's Sunday...), and I'm starting the year with three advanced classes and one extremely time-consuming extracurricular activity, so I might be occupied for quite a while. **

**And also, the reason I haven't posted anything is because I can never find time to get to my computer, which is upstairs in my house. My dog isn't allowed upstairs, and can't be left alone downstairs or she might do something I will have to clean up. Yay.**

**So, until then, my lovelies. Au revoir!**


	22. Quiet

**Okay, this chapter is finally up :) I was in a rush, so not my best work, but the next chapter is already halfway finished and will be up hopefully by tomorrow if I can escape to my computer.. Enjoy!**

* * *

**22/Percy**

Quiet. At first, that's all he is. He can see the question marks written into his friends' faces, their anticipation. As if they don't quite know if he's going to explode.

But the news, all of it, doesn't seem that newsworthy at all. It isn't surprising anymore. He feels as though nothing could surprise him anymore. He's seen too much.

And he wants to laugh, because it's almost like he's a movie star way past his prime, one that they keep using anyway because he was such a big hit before. And nobody's more tired than he his of the whole thing.

He realizes it's silent. He's been contemplating too long for them to think he's "okay," so to speak. "Okay," as in "not crazy." He's not so sure.

Maybe that's why he stares calmly at Reyna and asks, "Is this a joke?" Maybe that's why he isn't angry at the worried look that she shares with Nico, the one that screams, _He's lost it!_ And maybe that's why he isn't sickened by the intrigued stare he's getting from Julia, as if he's almost interesting, but not really.

Reyna and Nico seem to be having an argument with just eye contact. Percy can almost hear it: "You do it!" "No, you do it!" "You know him better!" "He remembers you better!"

But he guesses Nico ends up losing because he beckons him and says, almost exasperatedly but not quite, "Let's go for a walk."

And even Rachel looks surprised when he slowly gets up, and quietly follows. He says nothing while Nico talks through his worry. Nothing when he tries to explain. Nothing when he says nothing.

"I'm tired, Nico," he tells her finally. "I'm tired of all of this." He's quiet too, finally. So Percy keeps going. "I'm tired of waking up in strange places and meeting people who've never seen the world. I'm tired of having to be the hero all the time." He looks at Nico. "Aren't you?"

He sighs. "Yeah," he admits. "I know. It's too repetitive now. The gods have to get tired of this sometime."

"I don't think they're doing this for entertainment."

"And how would you know that?" He glares for a moment. "That's all they've ever used their children for. That, and revenge. Lots and lots of revenge. Right?"

Percy has to agree. But that's another thing he's tired of—trying to figure out what demigods are really for. He changes the subject. "Tell me about this Julia person," he prods.

Nico looks reluctant. Percy looks back, unblinking. It's hard to remember sometimes that Nico's been here for days, weeks, and maybe, Julia's his friend. And maybe he doesn't want to betray her secrets.

But he caves. "She's pretty vague about it," he says. "I guess it's a sore subject for her."

Percy gives him a questioning look.

"Atlantis is real," he says. "It's down there right now." They both peer into the water, as if trying to see it.

"Julia told me that after the fall of Atlantis, all the people there died. It lay in ruins for centuries at the bottom of the ocean, abandoned. Then Rome fell. Caesar, Cleopatra, Antony, and Caesarion were all dead. But two of Cleopatra's children lived. Twins. Alexander and Selene, who got their mother's devious brains and cooked up an escape plan for the remaining Romans. Guess where their refuge was?"

"Atlantis," Percy says immediately.

Nico nods. "Exactly. They paid off look-alikes to take their place in history and set up shop down there. Somehow, they managed to get the Oceanids on their side and built a new Atlantis with enough enchantments to make the environment good enough to live in. They have their own kingdom now."

"Where does Julia fit in?"

"Right. Alexander and Selene's Atlantis runs on a joint-rule. It's always been brother and sister, side by side, so no complications, and no killing each other all the time. But the catch is, if you're next in line, you have to have a brother or sister, or they'll find someone else."

"Julia was the sister queen," Percy guesses.

"In a nutshell, yeah. Her brother Aurelius banished her from Atlantian court for treason," Nico explains. "Her sister replaced her."

"Treason?"

Nico glances back at Julia's shack. "Helping me."

And they're quiet again.

Nico leans farther over the water, so far he's almost falling but not quite. "You know something I noticed when I was down there?" he asked, not looking up.

"What?"

"The Atlantians have a ridiculously big army."

Percy's eyebrows wrinkle. "You think they can help us overthrow Gaia," he realizes in amazement, looking at Nico in wonder. And he can't deny it's a fantastic idea; if the Atlantian army is like Nico says it is, it can't hurt to have them as backup in Greece. But if they hate demigods as much as it seems…

He's shaking his head. "No, Nico. It's a bad idea. If they hate demigods as much as you say—even banishing their own queen for helping one, then it's not worth the risk."

"But what if we have Reyna talk to them? She's a Roman," Nico insists.

Percy sits down in the sand, sighing, leaning against a boulder. "A Roman who associates with Greeks?" he points out. "Nope. She's a daughter of Minerva, too. People of the sea don't take kindly to those kind of demigods, Roman or not."

Nico blows out a lungful of air. "Darn," he mutters. Then he pauses, thinking. A strange look stretches his face. He turns to face Percy, who doesn't like the glint in his eyes.

"What?" he asks, a little fearfully.

"It won't work with Reyna, daughter of Minerva…" Nico says, slowly, as if the idea's just occurring in his mind. A bad feeling starts stirring in Percy's stomach, as if he's not going to like this idea.

Nico grins.

"But what if we use you?"

* * *

"No."

Nico is just finished explaining his new plan when Thalia's outburst quiets him. She shakes her head. "No _way_."

She'd woken from a bad dream just hours before (waking the rest of the hut as well) and now sits huddled in the sand with her clunky bandage around her leg, glaring at Nico, her eyes glinting in the firelight.

Nico looks surprised. Percy guesses that, out of everyone here, Nico expected Thalia out of everyone here to agree with him, if no one else would. "Why?" he asks.

Thalia won't look at him, just draws her knees close to her chest. "We can't afford to lose you, too," she mutters. She glances up suddenly at Percy, who abruptly realizes she's talking to him.

"Me?" he asks, stunned. Thalia raises her eyebrows. Blinking, he addresses the rest of the group. None of them speaks, just nods.

"You're our leader, Percy," Rachel says quietly. Thalia looks smug, as if her point has been proven, but Rachel's not finished. "And that's why you're going," and the way she stares at him means she's not asking, "but you're not going alone."

"What?" Thalia demands, her face wiped of victory. "Rachel!"

"She's right," Nico interjects, jumping on his chance to win over the others. He looks at Percy, suddenly sincere. "You _are_ our leader, Perce. That's why you're our only chance."

"I'm going." Reyna speaks up. She stands. "I'm the only Roman demigod here. Having me around to vouch for you might soften them up." There's silence. Percy nods at her. He's learned to trust her during his time at Camp Rome, learned that she's not the bad guy, but the others don't know that. This is her chance to prove herself, and she knows it.

Then, slowly, Piper, who's been sitting silently by Thalia's side, reaches up and touches Reyna's hand. Neither say anything, but everyone present knows what a big gesture it is, considering the circumstances between them.

Now no one will object to Reyna's offer.

"My brother will like that you need his help," Julia states. She looks at Percy. "I will go as well, to get you in."

Nico frowns. "Julia—"

"The guards will kill you on the spot unless they know what you want," Julia points out. "I won't go farther than the gate."

"Well I'm not staying here," Thalia huffs. Nico opens his mouth, then closes it. Even he won't try to challenge her.

"I'll stay, then," he says, nodding thoughtfully. "Rachel and I will take care of everyone here." Rachel smiles her agreement.

"It's settled then," Percy says.

"We should leave at dawn," Julia suggests. "The guards are groggier."

"Dawn," Percy repeats. And suddenly it's quiet again, and he doesn't quite know why.


	23. Bliss

**23/Annabeth**

Bliss.

It's so easy to lose yourself in it. So easy to blind yourself with it. So easy to drown in it. It feels as though no one knows this better than Annabeth, who's slowly losing her worries to the alluring charms of Ogygia.

Needless to say, it took days (if that's how long she's been here) before the bliss began to take over her mind. She was just so frustrated. With everything. Calypso and Chloe's presence didn't help. Neither did knowing she couldn't leave.

In the early days of her stay, she'd amuse herself by imagining just how she'd escape. Knock out Calypso. Tie up Chloe. Raid their kitchen, steal their boat, and be gone by morning.

Judging by their watchful eyes, they know what she was thinking. Yet the boat never disappeared, was never found spontaneously chained down. The gesture said, simply, _We're not stopping you._

But even if she wanted to, she never does leave. She tells herself it's because of Jason—he's too weak to walk a few steps, let alone travel. But maybe, that's not the only reason, she muses, trailing her fingertips in the water of the pond.

No, it's Ogygia. It's the way the wind blows through the branches like a song, the way birds and animals are friendly, the way everything is just so much better here. Deep down, it feels like a drug. She laughs. High on Ogygia? Silly.

Or is it?

"I feel better today."

She glances to her left. Jason's lying on his back in the soft grass, staring at passing clouds that always manage to look like cotton balls, no matter what kind of day it is.

"Good," she replies. She picks up a stick and deftly begins scratching the façade of a building into the wet mud.

He's silent for another moment, watching her work. Then, "Annabeth?"

Her hand pauses. The drawing's progress stops. "Yes?"

He folds his hands across his chest and closes his eyes, sighing. "Do you think we'll ever get back?"

She thinks it over. Calypso's normal offer would be for them to stay. Then again, since she's a girl, the offer may not extend to her. She's fine with that. She doesn't want to stay any more than Calypso would want to leave.

She does want to leave, right?

She shakes that thought away. The only thing she's really worried about is Jason. He's obviously high on Ogygia too, she sees it in his face. His good-natured attitude towards Calypso and Chloe could last years. If they asked him to stay, Annabeth truly does not know what he'll say.

She does know, if he stays, that there will be a zero percent chance of a Greek-Roman relationship. That Reyna will have no problem turning on them. That, quite possibly, they won't be able to stop Gaia.

"We will," she tells Jason finally. "We will." But then she stops, because she has to wonder if there's actually _anything to get back to_.

And that's probably the most worrisome thing of all.

Thalia could've easily drowned (lightning plus water? Definitely equals bad). Leo? Just as effortlessly. Piper and Reyna would at least have a chance, but it would've been a slim one, seeing as they must've been miles from shore.

The one thing Annabeth can take comfort in is that, no matter how hard they crashed, no matter how far out they were, Percy had to have survived.

Right?

She squints up at the sun, already low in the sky. "Calypso's probably going to put out dinner soon," she reminds Jason. "We should get back."

She has to heft Jason to his feet and act as his crutch in order to make it through the woods. It's tiresome, but Jason heals a little bit more every day, as does Annabeth's arm. Soon, she won't need the sling, and he won't need her.

Then maybe they can leave.

"Calypso?"

It's Jason who calls for the nymph helping hand at the cave entrance, not Annabeth. Simply put, she doesn't want it. And she doesn't need it.

Invisible servants carry platters of food to the table, where Chloe sits patiently, hands twisting in her lap. Annabeth's mouth waters at the sight of the grilled chicken, lemonade, and fresh rolls waiting for her on her plate. As much as she hates Calypso, the cooking is a perk.

Calypso tsks as she helps Jason to the table. "You aren't looking well," she says in her quiet manner. "Come, you need more medicine." The two of them change course, to the curtained side of the cave that acts as Calypso's bedroom, leaving Annabeth… She sighs. Alone with Chloe.

She's barely got her fingers around a buttery roll when Chloe interrupts.

"You know my father?" she asks, quietly.

Annabeth's head jerks. She glances sharply at the girl, who's looking at the curtain rather than her, as if she's afraid her mother will hear.

"Yes." Annabeth's answer is tight-lipped, not quite without her meaning to. For once, Chloe shrinks back. Her cold demeanor and mental walls are gone when she speaks, this time in a small voice.

"What's he like?"

Annabeth blinks. The childlike curiosity in the question pushes her to suddenly realize that Chloe's just a little kid, forced to spend time with her father's girlfriend—someone who isn't her mother. And though technically she's Percy's daughter (Annabeth still has trouble with the term), she has never known him, and perhaps never will. Annabeth and Jason are the only people she can get answers from, and Annabeth guesses she can't ask anything with Calypso around at all times.

Biting her lip, Annabeth resolves that she's misjudged Chloe for her clipped attitude; Annabeth herself distinctly recalls being unnecessarily cold and distant to her own father's wife.

But the trouble is, how much can Annabeth say to this little girl? How her father is torn between Roman and Greek, near to the point of madness? How he's lost, somewhere out there? How, though he stole her heart before, he's slowly breaking it?

"He's a hero," she finds herself saying. And there's so much more to him than that, but the silk screen is moving and Calypso's returning and she can't say anything else.

And as Calypso and Jason sit, Annabeth suddenly doesn't feel like eating anymore.

* * *

_You know how you can never really remember the beginning of a dream? You just end up right in the middle of it, and, unusually enough, you know exactly what's going on._

_So when Annabeth suddenly finds herself in a familiar stretch of woods, she's not surprised. She knows where she is. With no hesitation whatsoever, she begins to pick her way across the mossy ground, pushing through leafy branches and sparse bushes until she reaches a rough ridge. It overlooks an aged, white house that she knows too well._

"_Luke," she breathes. She scrambles down the side and skids to a stop in front of it. Her last visit is still burned in the back of her mind; Luke's insane mother, his worried father, Thalia's unreadable expression, and the smell of burned cookies all come back to her as clearly as if she's living it again._

_But…what is she doing here? Luke's dead. He hasn't been a factor of any kind for nearly a year._

_She quickly reasons that the only reason she could be here is a god's will for her to see something, so, suddenly tentative, she makes for the porch. The door swings open just as her foot touches the first step._

_She flinches, waiting for the wild May Castellan, but all she finds is…_

"_Luke?" Her voice sounds shrill._

_He looks different. He's not the Sirens' washed out, pale version, or Kronos' power-crazed, golden-eyed side. He looks almost alive, except…he's dead. Isn't he?_

"_Yeah." He runs a hand through his hair. "It's me."_

_She can only blink. "What…?" She frowns, unable to form words. "What are you…?"_

_He reads her mind. "I'm dead, don't worry," he assures (as if that was something that needed assurance). "Just a…special visit."_

"_What special visit?"_

_His eyes dart down. "They said I'm the only one who can convince you right now."_

_She's immediately suspicious. She peers over his shoulder, but there's no sign of his mother, or the strange home she'd built for herself. It looks…normal. Clean. Maybe this is what it looked like when Luke was a baby. Annabeth doesn't know._

_She does know that, for some strange, cruel reason, the gods have decided to send Luke to…convince her of something. But what? Another favor? Another request? Or another warning?_

"_What is it?" she says finally._

_Luke frowns, as if he can't remember. He shakes his head twice. "Um, I think they…"_

_Annabeth's heart sinks. The dead can't remember much, sometimes not even their own deaths. "What?"_

_He snaps his fingers. "They want me to tell you to wake up."_

_Her genius answer: "Huh?"_

_He grasps her shoulders and stares her in the eyes, blue into gray. "Annabeth, you're stuck."_

_She gives him a weird look. "What are you talking about? I'm fine," she insists._

_He shakes his head again. "No you're not. Ogygia's toxic; you think it's paradise and it's going to keep you safe, I know you do, but you're wrong. You have to wake up from the spell, Beth."_

"_You're crazy, there's no spell. Calypso would never—" she begins, but he cuts her off._

"_See? You're even being nice about Calypso; we both know you hate her."_

"_I don't—!"_

"_Well you should," he interrupts. "She may not know it, but she traps people there. She almost got Percy, didn't she? And she couldn't take losing so much that she made a clone of him to keep her company on her little prison of an island. And if you're not careful, kiddo, you're going to waste away there."_

"_But…"_

"_No buts," he says sternly. "Just do what I'm telling you, okay?"_

_She stands, silent. "Why are you here now?" she asks suddenly. "Why did they send you? Not my mother?"_

_He shrugs. "Who knows? But I'm here now, and you need to listen to me."_

"_But Jason…" She trails off. Jason gets closer and closer to Ogygia by the minute, and it won't be long before he'll never want to leave, and she knows it._

_Luke may have misjudged Calypso's nature, but, in a way, he's right. Annabeth can't hide on Ogygia and think it's all over. She has to get out._

"_Jason's a liability," Luke says. "You need to take him with you, whether he wants to go or not. It's for the best."_

_Swift and sure, more sure than he's ever been in the time that she's known him, he kisses her cheek. "I love you, Beth. You've always been my little sister, and I know I failed you, but this time I'm not letting that happen, dead or not. Wake up, and get the hell out of there."_

_He stares at her, suddenly blank. Then shakes her. "Wake up! Wake up! WAKE UP!"_

And she's sitting up in her hammock, breathing hard. She can still feel Luke's hands on her arms and his voice in her ear. She puts her hands to her head. _He's right, _she tells herself. _You need to get out._

Screw bliss. It's time to wake up.

* * *

**A stupid chapter, I know, but I'm running out of steam.. and I know you probably hear that all the time (and I definitely agree that's it's a dumb excuse), but it's true. I'll try and have something put up soon :)**


	24. Jumpy

**Well, I am proud to give you this long-awaited, long-overdue chapter. I know, I keep going MIA, and I'm really sorry, but advanced classes, school, friends, you know how it goes. I've just not found the time to do this, but I finished this chapter today (FINALLY) and I know you deserve it, so here it is. And I have the 25th one in progress, but I'm not going to promise you anything for fear of unintentionally breaking it.**

**This doesn't make up for the long weeks of absence, but I hope it helps(:**

* * *

**24/Percy**

Jumpy. That feeling is following him wherever he goes now, like a shadow. Paranoia, whispering to check behind him one more time, make sure no one's there. Prodding him to double back, just in case. Urging him to cover his footsteps. Even in his dreams it keeps him running away from nothing, despite its reassurances that there's something.

Because there's always _something_.

He wakes up at an ungodly hour (oh, the irony), drenched in sweat, numb with cold. The ceiling above him looks like space. Empty, black, nothingness. Sitting up, he looks around to find none of the others are having any luck with sleep.

"Athena..." One of Rachel's ethereal whispers creeps through the dark like smoke, followed by a wounded, child-like whimper. The breaking of her voice adds to Percy's cold sweat. _"Save your child,"_ she sobs.

"Stay..._away_," Thalia mutters. She kicks out, making a loud thump on the wall, making Percy jump, but no one else wakes.

"She burns," Leo whimpers to his pillow, curling against nonexistant flames.

"I don't want to keep secrets, Mama," Piper sighs, mouth slack, nose pink.

"Bianca," Nico mutters, face scrunched against tears.

"Love me," Reyna tosses and turns.

When he creeps across the shack, they don't wake up. He sees no sign of Julia, the Roman girl, the apparent former queen. There isn't an empty sleeping back, no extra pile of blankets. _Gone, _much like he was that fateful day.

Needless to say he's wondered countlessly what it was like for her, to walk in and find him _gone_. Did she cry for him? Did she run for help? Did she shut herself away from the world? Did she try to find him right away? What were her plans? Who comforted her? Did she even miss him?

_But that's stupid_, he thinks to himself, as he sets his first step outside. _Of course she did. You saw her face when she first saw you._ But he doesn't want to see the look on her face were she to see him now. He imagines hate, regret, pity, in those stormy eyes. A slap in the face, it would be.

Despite his chilled skin, it turns out to be sufficiently warm outside Julia's shack. He closes the door softly behind him. The sun hasn't risen; it's still pitch-black. And from where he's standing, it looks as though there are hardly any stars in the sky.

There's a sharp scraping sound behind him, then the glow of a flame. He whirls to find Julia behind him, calmly using a match to illuminate their faces. The yellow light makes her face look gaunt and sunken, unlike the pretty face he'd seen only hours before.

"Bad dreams?" she asks. She inserts the match into a rusty lantern in her free hand, shaking the flame away from the burnt wood. When Percy doesn't answer, she stares at him incredulously. "I have to warn you," she said, "my brother won't like you."

"I get that a lot," he says. Now it's his turn to stare. "Why are you awake?"

"I don't sleep," she replies simply. At his skeptical face, she gives a bitter smile. "A curse," she explains. "One of the many he laid on me."

_I'm sorry_ almost blurts out of Percy's mouth, but he catches the words on the edge of his lips. He knows more than anyone that _I'm sorry_ doesn't help anything. Julia seems to understand; with a purse of her lips and the waver of her stare, she turns away.

"Like I said, he won't like you," she repeated. She kneels by the fire pit, her hands moving busily. She's facing away from him.

He stands there, feeling awkward. "So?" he asks. "I've defeated plenty of people who don't like me."

Julia pauses. "I was thinking," she says, "that perhaps it is best not to bring your entire entourage." She smiles shyly. "I know what I said yesterday, but the smaller the group, the easier the infiltration, no?"

Percy blinks. Julia has changed her mind rapidly. Strength in numbers, now stealth in few? But before he ousts her, he stops. The last thing he wants is to get anyone—anyone—hurt. Whether it's Piper or Leo or anyone else. What kind of leader would he be if he just leads his troops to death?

"Okay," he tells Julia. He opens his mouth to continue, but she moves on quickly.

"Go wake the Roman and the Hunter," she says softly. She hands him the lantern—the metal pitted and rough to his calloused fingers—and, picking up her wool skirt, swishes off into the dark. To or for what, he doesn't know.

All he does know is, as he turns toward the shack, lantern creaking, the flickering yellow light pooling around him, he is completely alone.

* * *

"I do _not_ like this plan."

Reyna's voice, hard as stone, breaks the eerie silence as the four of them stare down into the blue ocean. When Percy glances sideways at her he sees her eyes alive with fear. The Roman's non-appreciation of water plus an actual fear of it (due to Minerva's rivalry with Neptune) does not seem to sway Reyna to their newfound plan.

"Who does?" Thalia scoffs. Reluctantly—almost as if they had fatal bacteria on them—she grabs Julia's hand, then extends hers to Percy. "Come on," she jerks her head, "let's get this over with." At three expectant (and undoubtedly threatening) stares, Percy joins hands with them.

As the surface of the water closes over their heads, Percy can feel both Reyna and Thalia's hands tightening around his. After a few minutes of realizing they could breathe, they relax.

"Where to?" Percy asks.

Julia cocks her head, as if listening to something. "That way," she says finally, pointing.

"That way" turns out to be across what feels like miles of dark, sandy ocean reef, illuminated slightly by the sunlight above. They pick their way across the shells and stones carefully, as if worried their air bubble will pop. Finally, they reach the edge of an abyss. Bottomless. Pitch black. Deathly.

"Down there," Julia says, pointing again.

"You've got to be kidding." Percy glances at her, but Julia's face is stoic.

Thalia grins. "Now _this_ I can handle." He's startled to see the determined look on her face, as if steeling her nerves.

"Thalia—" Percy begins, but she interrupts.

"Come on, Perce." She links arms with him; her skin is clammy, and there is fear behind her eyes, yet she flashes him a smile. "Take a leap of _faith_."

And the next thing he knows, Thalia is jumping feet-first into the abyss, dragging all of them down with her.

The plunging takes the instinctive scream from his throat. His stomach flattens against his spine as the dark swirls up at a breakneck speed. He slams his eyes closed, bracing himself for the impact, but…nothing hits.

He opens his eyes to find himself lying on ridged ocean floor, with only the skin of air between them.

Thalia's breathless laughter yanks him from his staring contest with the ground. "We're alive," she says gleefully, feeling her face as if relieved it's still there.

"Grace," Reyna says, looking as though someone had slapped her, "did you just _throw us off a cliff?_"

"But," Thalia levels a slender finger at the blonde girl, "we lived."

Percy opens his mouth, ready to retort, but Julia interrupts. "Yes, yes," she says impatiently. "We have to keep moving."

And with that, the four teens pick themselves up off the dusty ocean floor and continue their journey, once again in silence. Percy did not appreciate silence. At least talking takes the option of actually thinking away from him, but silence gives it to him on a silver platter.

_Annabeth_. That's what's on his mind at the time. All the time. _Annabeth, Annabeth, Annabeth._ A constant thought. Is she alive? Is she okay? Who is she with? He bristles slightly as a recurring thought resurfaces. _Jason_. It's the most likely, probably explanation, as she would say. Why would the Fates split them up? That kiss between them was obviously something Aphrodite could play on, and he knows for a fact that that is nothing the love goddess would pass up.

And like a broken record, the next textbook thought rolls in. He shouldn't care this much. _We're over_, her voice rings in his mind. And yes, they are. It's clear as the snap of wood over his skull. And yet, in the frequent moment he forgets that, he still pauses before a decision, waiting for her advice. He still gropes the blanket in the dark for her hand. He still looks to his right for her. Starts a sentence off with _Wise_ _Girl_ as if she's around to hear it—as if she would even _want_ to hear it.

It's so easy to forget when it's been so constant.

And Gaea. Even he can sense her getting stronger. Ever since his killing of Pontus's pet monster, Gaea's second husband had been dormant, lurking in the depths of the ocean. But Percy feels him there, pressing on them little by little.

Even now, trekking through the dusty darkness, Pontus watches.

_Careful, child,_ a dark voice weaves into his brain. _You may not like exactly what you find in the Lost City._

"Get out of my head," he growls, and is surprised to find that the primordial Titan is easily banished from his mind. _And stay gone_, he thinks sourly.

He's so tensed he jerks when Julia's hand grabs his, but she yanks him to a crouch before he can protest. She presses a pale finger to her lips, eyes wide. Eyebrows furrowed, he glances at Reyna. She points calmly.

They're standing at the edge of a ridge, almost like the one they had jumped off of; the same jagged ground, the same slope, except maybe not as steep. The ridge encircles a basin-like crater in the ocean floor, like a wall, guarding it.

And he has to blink several times as he focuses on the center of the crater.

He liked to believe, as a child, that Atlantis is a city at the bottom of the ocean, filled with merpeople, with a seashell drawbridge and a moat. But this is nothing like those childish dreams.

A castle sits on an acropolis in the center of a sprawling city, purely medieval and beautiful with its stone walls and tall spires and iron gates. An opaque barrier glows softly, giving the city light, and separates it from the ocean. The city itself is a thing of glory, complete with marble villas, pretty stone fountains, and people. Just…people, filling the cobblestone streets with brightly colored robes. Romans.

"There." Julia points at the base of the barrier. "There's an entrance there for trade, mostly importing."

"How can they be so wealthy?" Reyna squints at the people. "Look at it. Marble, gold, paved streets? Where do they get all of this?"

"Atlantis has always been rich," Julia shrugs. "All of this," she waves her hand delicately at the marvel, "is based upon generations' collections of the treasures of kings."

"But you said _importing_," Reyna presses. "If there's a constant stream of income, where are they getting it from?"

"Look," Thalia interrupts. "Do we really have time to be discussing this right now? I mean, it's already—"

"The gods," Julia replies, ignoring Thalia. "Not the Olympians, in a sense; Atlantis tends to avoid them and vice versa. My brother likes to deal with others instead." She hardly pauses to take a breath before continuing. "It's a full moon tonight. There should be a significantly large shipment coming in today."

"That's how we get in," Thalia says. Julia nods.

"You'll need to hide inside the cargo," she instructs. "The usual route for income is Neptune's Pass." She points as a thin ravine leading into the basin. "You'll want to wait there to ambush the caravan."

"How do we get to the palace?" Percy wonders, straining to see the inner workings of the city from his spot. He can't see much.

Julia hesitates. "That's the difficult part. You have to find Camilla."

"Camilla?" Thalia questions at the same time Percy says, "Why is that difficult?"

"The Atlantians are very loyal to my brother." Julia looks from Thalia, to Reyna, to Percy, her dark eyes solemn. "They always have been. That means you need to avoid being seen by _anyone_. Find Camilla. She was a friend to me years ago, and she'll be a friend to you as well. She'll tell you everything."

"How do you know she'll help us at all?" He can't help but ask, touchy though the subject may be. "How do you know she's still loyal to you?"

Julia looks at him. "My brother killed her family," she says bluntly. "I doubt Camilla would turn to him now. Once she knows I sent you, she'll help. Just be sure she won't start fires when she runs."

"What?"

"Percy," Reyna grabs his arm. Her hand is cold and slick. "I think I see the caravan."

Julia turns. "Yes, that's it."

Percy cranes his neck. The caravan is a long train of what appears to be carts, pulled by hippocampi and guarded by…armed knights in silver metal.

"Go," Julia urges. Thalia is the first to slide down the slope, encased in a separate bubble of air Percy creates for her, followed by Reyna.

The strain of keeping the bubbles whole for his friends takes all of Percy's mental capacity, all his concentration. "I don't think...I can hold…another one…for…you," he mutters.

Julia smiles. "It's alright," she assures. "I can swim."

"But…" Suddenly he's worried for her, this thin little slip of a girl who lost everything. "Are…sure?"

"Yes," she says. "I'll send for Nico if I must." She presses her lips to his cheek in thanks. "Now go. You can't miss your chance."

And with that, she slips out of the bubble, but he forms another for her anyway, despite the horrible headache it gives him. She smiles at him, a reassurance that if a bubble must fail, it should be hers, and that she'll be fine. Without even the energy to smile back, Percy turns for the ridge and prepares to follow Thalia and Reyna.

"Percy!" Julia's muffled voice reaches him through the dark. When he turns, he can't see her. Not at all. But she's loud and clear when she continues, "One more thing: be careful which cart you hide in; my brother likes exotic animals!"

He blinks into the vast black, a question mark surely written on his face, but if Julia sees it, she acknowledges nothing. As he turns back to the ridge, even his preoccupied mind is sure of something: Julia's last warning did nothing to help his paranoia.

* * *

**Well, I'm not particularly proud of the quality of this chapter, but I hope you at least enjoy it(: **

**If you have any thoughts, leave a review!**

**~ Mia ~**


	25. Indecision

**Oh. Hey. Didn't see you there. Well, my spring break plus a rather _pushy_ review finally finished the end of this chapter. For the record, this was in progress. As much as I love this website, my overall education and career trajectory tend to place higher on the list than Voyage of the Argonauts, thanks, 7862. Speaking of which, you should probably take another look at your own education and learn the grammatical etiquette of the English language.**

**Sorry for ranting. I'm tired. It's 11 PM and I really want to get this up and over with right now.**

**Enjoy?**

* * *

**25/Annabeth**

Indecision. It's the only thing keeping her together as she sits there, one leg over the edge of her hammock, the other firmly planted in its warm dent, unwilling to move. One part of her, ready to get things done, the other contemplating blowing it all off.

She's glad that, for once, she's not _completely_ torn between the peace of Ogygia and the duty of the Olympians' world. She'd gone over the pros and cons a thousand times since she woke up that first time on the beach. If she stays on Ogygia, she muses she would eventually get used to Chloe and Calypso—maybe even come to like them. She wouldn't have to go back to a world of stress and panic and death. She could live her life in a place that had nothing but serenity.

But she would be leaving her father. She would be abandoning her brothers. She would be neglecting Athena, the gods, the Fates. Percy, wherever he is, she would be betraying him too. And, without a hint of sarcasm, without joking to herself or teasing the absent him, she truly doesn't know whether he can win without her. And she doesn't mean it in a vain way; she simply knows that Percy has never once in his life thought a plan all the way through, or looked at it from every angle. He needs her.

And if she leaves, yes, she would have to return to her old life, where she never stops running. But there's a chance—a chance, mind you—that Percy is out there, looking for her. Waiting for her. And who is she to let him down? And if she leaves, she won't have to get used to Calypso—because frankly, she doesn't want to.

So she sits there, cross-legged in Calypso's precious garden, planning. Sitting in the dirt, with absolutely no regard for the cream-colored dress (among many) that the nymph had lent her. Because if she let herself respect Calypso's things, she may begin to start respecting Calypso herself. And she can't have that.

More than once Annabeth had observed the different things she would need to steal in order to escape. For one, the boat, tethered to a sturdy wooden pole on the beach, floating gently in shallow waters. Then Calypso's food, stuffed in the many cabinets of the cave. Then water, taken from the springs around the island. The medicinal kit from under Calypso's bed. The compass hanging from the jar of paprika on the ceiling. And most importantly, Jason's loyalty.

She sighs. The son of Jupiter had been growing attached to Calypso and Chloe, she knows that much. She sees it in the way he laughs with them. In the way he helps Chloe around the island. In the way he chats with Calypso. It would be difficult to convince him to rob the two and leave.

But… She casts a glance at him, limping past her on a makeshift crutch, a clay jug in hand. She doesn't exactly need his blessing. She looks back down at her hands as he smiles at her. She can't let that sweet smile stray her right now.

She pauses. Sweet? She throws a dark, curious look at his retreating back. Since when is Jason sweet? She shakes her head_. You're losing your mind, Chase._

_Are you?_ a giggling voice asks her.

"Stop it," she snaps, whirling. She catches just the finest glimpse of the little boy, taunting her, before he vanishes into the trees. "Don't you dare play tricks on me, Aphrodite," she mutters.

She yanks Calypso's skirt up and stomps off, ignoring the suggestion of laughter behind her.

It's difficult to be patient. She forces her muscles to sit still as she settles herself quietly in a corner of the cave, weaving flowers together. Calypso had walked out with a basket on her delicate arm, probably for fruit or something. Chloe remains, stitching up a tear in one of her skirts. So does Jason, leaning on a makeshift counter to keep his balance, chopping up mint with a large knife—or, trying.

Annabeth watches his fumbling fingers, only half-recovered from his illness, struggle to keep a firm hold on the knife. The mint becomes a mess of irregular lumps. With the fear that his fingers will follow, she stops him with a hand to his.

"I'll do it," she offers. Without waiting for an answer, she takes the knife and proceeds to make his jumble of vegetables a neat green mush.

"Jason," she murmurs out the corner of her mouth. He grunts in response, not paying attention. She shoots a glance over her shoulder; Chloe is quiet and reserved on her little bed, her needle flashing in and out of her thin skirt. She doesn't look up.

"Jason," Annabeth hisses.

"Hm?" His eyes are intent on the knife, glinting in the dim light, chopping the green mess into nothingness.

She slaps the knife down, frustrated at his lack of attention. "We have to get off this island."

The eyes flash up, a sudden, alert blue. "What?" he says loudly—too loudly.

"Shh!" she snaps. She doesn't have to turn to know Chloe is watching them, no doubt curiously. She grabs his arm and pulls him outside, out of Chloe's earshot.

He's stumbling, stomping on months of Calypso's work in her gardening, but Annabeth doesn't care. She isn't satisfied until there's no one but the two of them, and he yanks his arm out of her grip.

"Annabeth," this time he has the sense to keep his voice down, "that's crazy."

"Is it?" she retorts. "Jason, we have to go home. We can't spend the rest of our lives here."

"And why the hell not?" he shoots back. She blinks. He sighs in frustration, running both his hands through his blonde hair. "Don't you get it? There's going to be a war raging on out there, and we have a back door! A chance to get out of it!"

"And that's what you'd choose?" she asks disbelievingly. "A back door?"

"We don't even know if anyone else is alive!" he protests. "For all we know, the _Argo II _is dead and gone and so is the rest of the seven!"

"But we don't know!" Her voice shoots through an octave, because they can't be dead. Not Percy, not Thalia, not any of them. She's lost too many people in the past few years; she can't lose them too. "Jason, we don't know. They could be alive and safe, and looking for us! Would you really abandon that? For this?" She waves an angry hand at the green around them.

"They've been good to us," he growls. His calloused hand wraps around her wrist. "We could be happy here. A new life. No more prophecies, no more blood. We could be normal."

And what wouldn't she give for that? For a second, she considers it again. What if they were dead? The demigods would have no chance against Gaia, and she'd be giving her life for a lost cause. She could move on here. She could get used to Chloe and Calypso. She could maybe even get used to Jason. For a second, it's almost beautiful.

But the noble and dutiful part of her wins over that battle.

"There's a war brewing out there," she whispers. "They need us." Even though she wishes they didn't.

He steps closer, his face set in determination, his hand like iron around her wrist. Even so, she doesn't bother fighting him. "We've both had our fair share of wars, Annabeth." His eyes search her face earnestly, for any sign of agreement, but she stays silent.

He laughs, just as disbelieving at her behavior as she is at his. "You've been to _hell and back_ with the Battle of Manhattan. I've seen things I'll _never_ forget in the Battle of San Francisco." Another step, and he's half-cast in shadow, and with the next whispered words, he looks like an old man trapped in a youth's body. "I've done things I'll be paying for for the _rest of my life._" He pauses, as if awaiting her change of mind. "You can't tell me you want to go back to that." He shakes his head. "You can't."

The facts sting, mostly because they make perfect sense. She clamps down on her resolve, determined not to lose it to her pity for him. "I know," she says softly. "But we can't turn our backs. We can't leave them. Do you know why?" He doesn't answer, drowning in his own anguish and guilt, and looks away. Using her trapped hand, she grabs the wrist restraining hers and pulls him even closer for emphasis, pushing away the urge to measure exactly how far apart their faces were. "Do you know why?" she demands.

And she thinks the only thing more tragic than his eyes are maybe Percy's when he mutters, "Because we'll be running."

"No," she breathes. "Because we'll be _hiding_. And I'll be damned if I end up hiding from anything. Okay?"

He doesn't answer, only uses their twined arms to yank her toward him and crush her in a hug. And she hugs back.

* * *

It's entirely too easy to raid Calypso's cave, rob her garden of its fruits, and make their way to the beach while the nymph and her daughter sleep. Relief overtakes Annabeth as she and Jason tread the soft sand to the boat, floating lazily in shallow water. She drops her load of goods into the boat and turns to find Jason smiling at her.

"What?" she whispers.

It disappears, as if he hadn't realized what he was doing. He shakes his head. "Get in," he whispers back.

She looks at him in utter skepticism. He had grown stronger over the time in Ogygia, yes; his skin had gone from sickly pale to its normal tanned hue, his eyes had regained life, and his illness is steadily ebbing away from his system. But she seriously doubted he could manage to push the weighed boat into farther waters.

"You get in," she says fiercely.

She can sense an argument forming between them, but a whistle cuts through it. They both tense instinctively. Jason shoots a questioning look at Annabeth, who is hit with sudden realization.

_Calypso's songbird_, she mouths.

He nods in understanding, then points to the boat again. _In_, he mouths back.

Annabeth glances at the boat, then at Jason's face, then in the direction of Calypso's cave, and suddenly she's not quite so relieved. Guilt's ugly tendrils snake up her back.

"We have to go back," she says under her breath.

He looks at her, startled. "What?"

"Stay here." With one shove she manages to force him headfirst into the boat, but just as he propels himself back to his feet, she's running across the sand towards Calypso's cave.

The forest of Ogygia had never been quite as scary as right then, crashing through the leaves and the bushes in dead blackness. She keeps listening for Jason's footsteps behind her, but the only ones she hears are her own.

Needless to say she's glad when there's a light at the end of the leafy tunnel—the glow of a fire from inside Calypso's cave. She holds her breath, half-hoping Calypso won't be there when she inches inside.

She isn't disappointed. The cave is empty. Encouraged by this, she rushes in and dumps her last drachma coins on Calypso's bed. "Thank you," she whispers, even though the nymph can't hear her. "For everything."

She turns on her heel, ready to leave Ogygia behind. And is startled to find Chloe blocking her path.

"You're leaving," she states dully. Annabeth's eyes flick from Chloe's emotionless face to the darkness behind her, searching for caramel hair or dark eyes.

"She isn't here," Chloe snaps, drawing Annabeth's attention back to her. She folds her arms across her chest, looking entirely menacing despite her small stature. "You're going back."

"Yes," is all Annabeth can think to say.

"To my father?" Chloe hardly gives Annabeth time to stumble over her words, much less answer. "I don't care if you don't tell him about me. I don't care if you leave him. I don't even care if you lose this war. But you keep him alive. Do you understand me?" Her sea green eyes pierce holes in Annabeth's heart. She grasps the same wrist Jason did only a few hours before, except tighter. She folds an object into Annabeth's hand, squeezing each word into her fingers. "You keep my father's heart beating even if it means letting yours stop."

"I will." The words slip out before she even gets to wonder whether they're true or not.

"Promise me." The eyes narrow.

"I promise," she whispers.

"Good." Chloe throws Annabeth's hand away from her like it's riddled with a disease. A peek proves Annabeth's suspicions; Chloe had given her a necklace."Now go. And please, don't come back."

And it's those words that chase her through the trees. Suddenly, it's the branches' ragged fingers tugging at her dress, the wind whispering in her ears, the twigs in the ground grabbing for her ankles. It's the seahorse charm burning in her palm. It's a relief to see Jason's head of blonde hair in the boat, already bobbing in the water, but it almost stops her in her steps.

_I don't care if you leave him,_ Chloe said. Obviously the girl can't know that she already did.

There is no doubt there's a fire in her, burning for Percy. She'd built that one for years, and it burns still. But could she maybe feel something for Jason? A flicker of a flame?

Most of her wants to put that flame out with a bucket of water and run. Then there's a part of her that wants to make it larger.

"Hey, what happened?" She doesn't realize she's crying until she stumbles into the boat and Jason's coarse fingers are wiping the wetness away from her cheeks.

She can't help but look at him in silence. He slices the rope tethering the boat to shore with one swing of a sword she didn't know he had. Then he wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her in beside him, letting her curl up against his side like a child.

Her shivering is half from the tears, half from the dampness of her dress, and his grip tightens around her. However conflicted she is about it, she feels safe there, with her head on his chest and his hand resting on her hip.

"It's going to be okay," he murmurs. His breath stirs her hair. She looks up, thinking perhaps she should move away.

And then she's not thinking, because in the space of two seconds Jason closes the space between them and kisses her.

And maybe it doesn't feel as wrong this time.


	26. Normal

**Hello! Here you are! Another chapter, probably not as lovely as ever, but oh well. I worked on this for like...um a long time, so I hope it didn't feel like _too_ long. Enjoy!**

* * *

**26/Percy**

Normal.

"Normal" has always been something _absent_ in Percy's life. He's known that for a long time. Growing up, he was abandoned to his own devices for not being normal. How many times had he been pushed to the corner of the playground? Stared at? Left partner-less for every project?

He'd always been told it's his _god_ _side_ humanity can't accept. Deep down, on an instinctual level, mortals sense he's not one of them—he doesn't belong. How many times has Chiron said that? Annabeth? Grover? And he's believed it. It made sense. At least for a little while.

He remembers once trudging home in the rain, the only kid who didn't have a ride back; rain wasn't the only thing streaming down his face that day. Others followed, like being left to fend for himself at a lonely table. Giggled at in hallways, whispered about in classrooms. He's never had a perfect connection with people his age.

But even among his own kind, h's a bit of an outcast. The years upon years of alienation still remain in traces. Sometimes, he'll even be avoided. By the newer demigods more than others, but some won't meet his eyes when they cross paths, just because he's famous—more powerful. He's used to it, he liked to think. It's his own twisted version of normality.

And yet sometimes that excluded feeling was unable to be ignored. Like when Annabeth and Chiron share cryptic, all-too-communicative looks. The secrets Rachel tries to keep. The way they'll all try to protect him—by telling him _nothing_.

Oh, the irony. Rejected by both halves of him.

But the one recurring sense of normality, the one he's become accustomed to, is leadership.

And the sight of his friends at the bottom of the ridge, half-hidden in shadow, awaiting his orders, makes him feel as normal as he'll ever be.

In silence Reyna points a thin finger at the caravan making its slow crawl towards the city's entrance. A closer look makes note of the armed, tailed guards patrolling the line with beady hawks' eyes. Long, glittering bronze weapons kill the very implication of threats. If the group can grow any more silent, they do. Thalia's fingers twine with her chain bracelet quietly.

Slowly, Percy analyzes the situation. Though at a snail pace, it won't be long before the caravan reaches the city. There are at least eight carts in total, more than enough of them big enough to hold a person. Or worse.

Quickly, before any more time is lost (or any disturbing images could come into play), Percy signals Reyna to scout. As stealthy as the lions her kind love so much, the Roman girl slips from the recesses of the dark and deftly squeezes her way past the line of very armed guards, molding herself to the side of a cart until she's nothing more than a shadow. Once the coast was clear, she beckons Thalia forward with a flick of her wrist.

Thalia darts toward her and rolls under the cart near the back. When it passes by, she's gone, most likely clinging to the bottom like a cat. Reyna, feet hitched to the back of her own cart in a crouch, signals the go for Percy.

But the second he takes a step from their hiding place, chatter flares up among the guards. A frantic glance proves his worst fear; the caravan is nearing Atlantis's entrance, and the gaps in the security suddenly close, shutting Percy out. He catches just a glimpse of Reyna's panicked eyes through a crack in her crate's lid before she drops inside and disappears.

Frustration and anger speed up Percy's heartbeat so much he can feel it punching painfully against his ribs. He's _leader_. He isn't supposed to be left behind. He waited too long. He should have gotten to them faster. He feels like kicking something in fury, but slams his eyes closed to try and calm down. It doesn't work, but he wishes so badly that he's in that damn crate that the strangest thing happens.

After a single, sharp pull in his gut, it all….whooshes away, as if he's breathed it all out with one sigh. Suddenly he's so much lighter than before. Floating, almost. In a panic he opens his eyes and sees something that throws his heart into near overload. It only lasted for a moment, but still leaves him breathless. His skin had turned clear—no, blue. No. Water. He had turned into water. And he's…in the crate. Shock tenses him. He had turned himself to water and transported to the crate. How did he do that?

_The benefits of getting older, my boy,_ his father's voice praises in his mind. _Power._

Relief soothes the excited thumping as he slumps down in the corner of the large crate to wait. He sighs again. He would have to talk to Poseidon about that.

Rough, dirty straw loosely covers the crate floor under his fingers, and there was a rank smell he can't place. Maybe meat, or a carcass. Or…wet fur. His heart began to pick up again as he stared into the darkness, suddenly _very_ conscious of another presence in the crate.

Riptide makes a calming ringing sound—a high, singing note—as it slides from pen to blade. Its comforting illumination casts light on dirty slabs of wood, a rotting hunk of meat and bone, and a bowl of foggy water. Suddenly, it's dead silent save for Percy's breathing. And then the sinking proof that he's not the only one.

Slowly and surely, like a snake, a pair of golden eyes slide out of the black, followed by a creature that makes Percy flatten himself against the wall of the crate.

Grimy white feathers, once snowy, are glued to the massive head with sweat. A golden, knife-sharp beak dips low, nipping quietly at the air as if it can _almost_ taste fresh meat. A low thump forces Percy's eyes away from the creature's and down, to a giant paw resting too close to him for comfort, twice the size of his own hands. Glittering claws scratch gently at the wet wood. Something flutters behind it—the suggestion of wings just as white as its head. He can't place a name to the thing, only levels the point of his sword at it, hoping to scare it off.

Instead, it tilts its head at the object, its curious eyes trying to place it. It makes a low grumbling sound, and a cling cuts the air as the beak touches metal.

He's so still his muscles hurt, and he can't seem to tear his eyes from the creature's. Its gold beak nudges the tip of his sword in puzzlement. Against better judgment, he lowers it and stows it away in his pocket. The thing grunts appreciatively, and with low thump it settles on its stomach before him, immediately sticking the beak into its fur to preen itself.

Cautiously, he lets himself relax a little as the cart bounces along. He can see it's something of a zoo animal, and a poorly kept one at that. The iron collar binding it to the crate is rusting significantly, staining the white feathers of its neck red with the dust. The beak is stained with dirt and something dark, like blood, and several bare spots in its feathers and fur reveal mangled, ugly scars. Its bones jut out sharply at the joints, suggesting it hasn't touched any of the rotting meat it's been given. When it catches staring it squawks warningly, forcing him to look instead at the floor. It glares at him for a moment, then rests its head on its paws, watching him.

Abruptly, the cart jerks to a stop, jolting both the creature and Percy. He's more than glad its yelp covered his own. Faintly blue light shines through the cracks of the crate, rather than the dark of the ocean. Two thumps echo on the lid, followed by garbled talk—Latin, maybe.

"Take her to the _circenses_," one says gruffly. "We'll collect her later for the fight."

The creature squawks again, and this time Percy swears he hears terror in it. She's on her feet suddenly, forced to hunch over by the cramped crate, and turns in a panicked circle, scraping at the floor with her claws franticly.

It hits him. She's not just a zoo animal. She's a circus feature—and not the kind of circuses he knows. She's a fighter.

Without thinking he puts a hand on her paw. She shies away, squawking in fear.

"Open it up," a voice orders suddenly, and the sound of crowbars on wood send the poor thing into sheer panic.

In the span of a second, she hooks her claws into Percy's tattered shirt and drags him close. He struggles, repulsed by her rank scent and the closeness, but realizes she's hiding him from view. Her wings are covering him, providing perfect cover.

"Scrawny thing," the authoritative voice remarks cruelly.

"Won't last a minute in the _circenses_," another agrees. And Percy feels her tremble. He pats her belly awkwardly to calm her.

Suddenly the crate is tipped over, and Percy feels his stomach roll along with the creature, bouncing on something hard.

The harsh screech of a metal gate seals them in. The creature shies away from something, and a cruel laugh reaches Percy's ears even through the layers of feather and fur.

"Good luck in there," a guard croons, laughing. And then there's silence.

Slowly, the wings release Percy onto dirty, sticky ground. Instantly, he wishes he was back in that cocoon. The air smells even worse than the creature's crate—like rotting flesh and wet fur and death. He gags, then pulls up the collar of his shirt to cover his nose. It reeks of sweat—dried and fresh—but he'd rather breathe that than whatever was dying with them in the cell.

It's dimly light; no blue light. Only the wicked flickering of torches allows him to see his surroundings. A decaying metal gate stands between him and a stone corridor. A large padlock hangs definitively on the gate opening. He can see various carcasses lying around the cell, much like the creature's crate, but smellier. He can't tell how big it is; the torchlight only penetrates so much darkness, but he's suddenly very sure that he and the creature aren't the only ones present.

He tenses up, pulling his pen out of his pocket but keeping it in its harmless form. Eyes appear in the black, shining in the dim light. He whips out the blade, swinging a large arc around him and the creature. He hears various screeches and yelps as they all skitter back, terrified of the celestial bronze.

He etches a large circle around them, hoping the animals are dumb enough to believe that'll hurt. He points to the center.

"Stay here," he whispers. "I'll come back for you. I promise." The creature looks at him with mournful eyes, but sits, and watches him as he cuts a bar from an inconspicuous part of the gate and squeezes through.

There's no sign of Thalia or Reyna. To his left, the corridor takes a turn, where further light shines. To his right, the corridor ends in blackness. He goes left, keeping close to the wall.

He presses himself to the corner and uses Riptide's blade to reflect the contents of the turn. The corridor goes on for a bit more, then ends in a staircase. Metal gates line up and down. More cells?

He inches to the first two and cautiously peers inside. There are no creatures in the immediate light, but he swears he hears a few tentative sniffs, and so he makes a beeline for the stairs.

At the top of the steps, an oaken trapdoor stands. It won't budge on the first yank, so he uses his own sweat to cut a hole in it instead.

It takes time, but eventually he's bored a hole large enough to see through. And he's astonished to see what's beyond it.

Where the dungeon (he guesses that's what it is), is made of rank, rough stone and anything but clean, the hallway he sees is constructed of white marble and pillars twined with gold streaks. Patterns line the hems of the walls, and what floor he can see is intricate tiles.

He's in the palace.

Voices echo towards him from down the corridor—angry ones. Could someone have found the gap in the gate? He can't take that chance. So, with one mighty pull, he slips through the trapdoor and closes it shut.

He automatically feels out of place in the beautiful hall. He hopes he isn't leaving footprints as he hurries to the nearest door and rushes through without thinking. Thank the gods there's no one inside. It's a bedroom that reminds him of the ones in Poseidon's palace, with gossamer sheets on the bed, a mahogany desk in the corner, and a finely crafted window overlooking the city.

"Percy!"

He jumps and whirls, slicing air, but it's only an Iris-message. "Reyna?"

The Roman girl is smudged so badly with mud her only identifying features are her blue eyes. She's crouched low, behind what looks like a stack of crates. "Oh, thank the gods," she breathes. "You made it in."

"How did you make a…?" He shakes his head. "Um, yeah," he finishes lamely. He would ask her about the Iris-message later. (She _is_ a Roman after all.) "Did you?"

She casts a cautious glance over her shoulder. "I'm somewhere in storage, I think. The first floor, maybe. I saw Thalia get in too; I think she was still hanging to the bottom of her cart, but gods know where she is now…Where are _you_?" She peers past him.

"I don't know," he replies. "I think the first floor too. I came up from the…the…" He snaps his fingers. "The _circenses_."

Reyna's eyes widen. "You were in the _circenses_? And you got out?"

He frowns, confused. "Yes…"

"Percy, I don't think you get it. The _circenses_ is what Romans call—" Voices cut off Reyna's own, and she flattens against the ground. "Find your way to the armory," she hisses once the guards pass. "It'll be high up, maybe even the top floor. Where the throne room is. Romans like their weapons close." And before Percy can reply she ends the message.

He's still standing there in silence when the door swings open.

The girl standing there is a few years older than him, maybe twenty or twenty-one. She's dressed in enough finery to prove she lives in the palace, in a white silk dress embroidered with gold. A deep purple cloak is draped over her shoulders, hung in place by a rich gold necklace stretched across her neck. Her hair, a curling black, is decorated with more gold—a diadem to show her status and little beads and trinkets woven into the thick strands. She's beautiful, sure, but Percy can't help but think she looks a little bit like Julia.

A disgusted noise crosses the space between them, and her nose wrinkles as though she's just smelled something repulsive. Percy wonders if she'd even been to the _circenses_ before.

"_Quid agis hic, servo?" _Her voice is high-pitched and haughty, and he can tell she's ordering him even through the language barrier._ "Non pertinent in hoc area!" _she snaps. He looks at her blankly.

"And you don't even speak Latin?" she demands. "My gods, what idiots my brother, _the_ _emperor_, is placing here these days."

And Percy realizes she looks like Julia because she's _related_ to Julia. Also, that she's the queen of Atlantis. He bows hastily.

"Sorry, my lady," he mumbles, pulling a response from a movie out of his head.

Her eyes drop down to the sword in his hands. His heartbeat quickens. Will she think he's stealing? Have him executed? The plot uncovered? But she only sighs.

"Oh, you're a weapons bearer. Lost, are you?"

He's glad that she's proud enough to think she knows everything. He nods, trying to look pathetic. Apparently he succeeds, because the young woman rolls her eyes, steps out of the doorway, and points.

"Take it to the armory, boy. Down the hallway, up two flights, the door left of the throne room. You can't miss it even if you _are_ an idiot." She pauses. "Tell Lord Caesarion you were bullied by the guards and Lady Aurelia sent you on your way."

"Thank you," he mutters, and he can't get out of there fast enough.

As he rushes down the corridor and up the stairs, he can't stop thinking. Aurelia, the sister that pushed Julia into exile. And Caesarion… The emperor, no doubt.

He uses Aurelia's excuse on the guards. To his surprise, they let him in as soon as the name left his lips. She must have a more menacing reputation than she seems.

It makes him wonder how much worse Caesarion could be.

He turns in a quick circle. The armory is _big_, to no surprise. Every inch of wall is covered with some sort of weapon—even the floor has only a thin pathway to walk on. He checks to make sure he's alone.

"Reyna?" he whispers.

"Percy?" Thalia's voice comes from behind him, making him jump—into a stack of spears.

Her hand shoots out to steady them. "You clumsy idiot!" she hisses. He's surprised to see her covered in blood and scrapes. Her black hair is half-brown with dirt, and streaks of it are all over her, marking both skin and clothes. She catches him looking. "Had to fight my way through a couple places," she shrugs. She in turn wrinkles her nose. "You reek," she comments. "Where've you been?"

"Nowhere good," Reyna's voice speaks, right beside them.

Thalia claps her hand over her mouth just a second after a curse word escapes. "Gods alive, Roman! How long have you been there?"

Reyna tilts her head at Thalia, eyebrows raised. "A while." Thalia's eyes narrow by just a fraction of a millimeter, and to Percy the room feels colder as the two very anger-prone and powerful girls stare each other down. Against common sense, he decides to take a shot in the dark and try to break it up.

"What?" he demands.

"Nothing," they both reply in unison. Percy can't decide if the looks they exchange are knowing or warning, but decides to let it slide.

"Um…right, well, I ran into Julia's sister before here," he offers.

They both snap towards him. "Sister?" Reyna repeats.

"You mean the queen?" Thalia asks.

He nods. "Aurelia. She told me the emperor's name is Caesarion."

Reyna frowns. "She _told_ you? Just like that?"

"More like yelled," he amended. "She thought I was a slave."

"How should we go in?" Thalia wonders. "Guns blazing?"

Reyna's shaking her head before the last word leaves Thalia's mouth. "No. He's an emperor, but he is trained. No one in this palace wouldn't be. Our best bet is to go in there unarmed and hope he doesn't kill us."

Thalia cleanly pulls an arrow from her quiver and inspects the tip. "What are the odds of that happening?"

"Nothing good," Reyna replies. "But I have a plan."

* * *

The second they ram the doors open, Percy isn't so sure of Reyna's _plan_. First of all, he can't see why the guards won't just kill them on sight—isn't that what they're trained to do? Second, all security in the palace will know about their presence instantly. Third, he's pretty afraid of them all dying. But it's too late.

Three steps into the room and Thalia's bow takes out half the room. Another second and Reyna's fists finish off the rest, giving Percy just enough room to slip through—right to the center, where the throne stands. With one jump he tips it to the ground and crouches with his feet on the throne's back, his sword pressed to the throat of its occupant. He's almost surprised when the young man doesn't fight back, except he isn't. Romans.

As Thalia and Reyna bar the doors, he has a moment to stare the man down. Julia's brother looks almost like her, except that the more Percy studies him, the more he looks like Aurelia. The features are sharper, crueler. His eyes remind Percy of beetles—small and shiny. He doesn't speak, even as they yank him up by the collar. He doesn't even open his mouth until they right his throne, sit him down in it, and lay their weapons on the ground.

"Well, well," he says finally. "I haven't seen your kind in a long time."

The first thought that crosses Percy's mind is how haughty Caesarion can manage to be even after being essentially attacked. "You saw Nico di Angelo, didn't you?" slips out of his mouth. Reyna and Thalia shoot him angry looks, but Caesarion just laughs.

"A son of Poseidon," he chuckles. "How delightful." He says it as though someone has just brought him a new puppy. "Do you like my father's palace?" He waves a hand at the palace. "It's one to rival _your_ father's, is it not?"

"No," Percy replies bluntly. Thalia takes that opportunity to elbow him sharply in the ribs.

"Honest," Caesarion comments. "I like that." His beetle eyes go to Thalia. "Daughter of…" He rubs his chin. "Let me guess. Jove? Oh, that's right, _Jupiter_. No." He grins. "Greeks. You call him Zeus." He searches her face. "You have his eyes," he says as the very blue orbs flash. "And you." He stares intently at Reyna. "You…" he pauses. "Interesting."

"_Salve, lord,"_ Reyna says. _"Veniam. Quid agis?"_ She glares at Percy as if to say, See? This is how it's done. He ignores her.

"A Roman!" Caesarion grins again. "With Greeks?" He laughs, and it sounds so familiar to every evil laugh he's ever heard, it's almost normal.

"This must be a _very_ important business proposal."


	27. Guilt

**27/Annabeth**

Guilt. One of the many burdens of the world. Even the slightest deed can call it to your side, and then it remains, picking slowly at your conscience everywhere you go. It can change even the most stubborn of minds and turn even the sturdiest of hearts, yet at the same time, destroy both with one move.

The world—and more importantly, Annabeth—has seen more than one man lose his sanity to the cruel, iron fist of guilt. She has seen more lose their hearts.

Guilt is no stranger to her. Thalia's "death" had guilt dogging her heels for years. Luke's still exists in her steps. What she had done to Percy clings to her ankles, dragging her down, clawing its way up to eat out her heart.

Before she ran away from home, she was the _other_ child. The neglected one. She would sit in corners and glower. Break toys and cleverly spurn the consequences. Sometimes, she was too clever for her own good. Once upon a time, she had been the exiled princess of her little kingdom. If it could even be called that.

She remembers sitting there, doodling on the floor, when a large, muddy footprint interrupting her designs. Stunned, she was not surprised to realize it was Bobby's shoe that had ruined her ideas. Furious, she watched him laugh. _Laugh_—and waddle off. Little did tiny Bobby know he had poked the bear.

She remembers working nonstop, using common knowledge and little extra tools to create a plan that would make Bobby very, very sorry. And she laughed too—to see him dangling there, trapped upside-down in her snare. And she didn't even feel sorry when she sliced through the rope (sheets, really) with one swipe of a kitchen knife and Bobby went crashing. And she didn't see anything wrong with it all until she saw all the blood—and that's when guilt first appeared next to her. It hasn't left since.

She hopes it doesn't sink the boat.

"How long has it been?"

Jason's whispered question sounds about as scratchy as Annabeth's throat feels. They're lying down rather than sitting (as they'd been doing for who knows how long), side by side. She glances at him, eyes moving from his matted blonde hair to his parched lips to his shirtless-ness. He'd strung it up to provide some shade for them an hour or two earlier. She tries not to dwell on that too much.

"A few hours," she replies finally. But it feels much longer than that.

"Where are we?"

Percy would know. "I don't know. It's up to Poseidon." Or Pontus . But she can't know for sure. She's glad for that, for once.

Thankfully, Jason seems to sense Annabeth's exhaustion. He falls silent, and she convinces herself he's asleep.

Not so thankfully, that leaves Annabeth essentially alone with her thoughts. She isn't sure where they'll end up. If they have any luck left, Greece . But she very much doubts the gods will have that much mercy. Or any at all.

And worse, what would she do when she found Percy again? (Because she will find him again. To make amends if not for anything else.) It wouldn't be the same. Not ever again. She made sure of that. And now she's managed to wrap herself up with…Jason.

Deep down, she can't come to terms with that. Not really. The more she thinks about it, the more her thoughts tangle. She reasons that Jason is an inverted Percy, in a way. Roman, not Greek. Proud, not humble. Blonde, not black-haired. Yet, they're so similar. Same values. Same role. Same confidence. But Percy doesn't have that freshness Jason has, or the vulnerability. Or that little dimple in his cheek. He certainly doesn't have lips that taste like…soldier. Sweat and grime and blood. The taste of warriors.

For the first time, Piper pops into Annabeth's head. Just a little girl, and Annabeth's already betraying her. Jason could crush her with the very words.

Jason has Piper. Annabeth has Percy…sort of. Together, they may give Aphrodite the entertainment she so craves, but they would most definitely cause more damage than good, no matter how…wonderful Annabeth feels around him.

She can't help but wonder if it's just physical. Straying gives her a slight rush, even if she's not exactly _straying_. Still, it feels wrong. Percy is the only boy she's loved. Maybe it's the variety she wants. Gods, even she doesn't know.

She knows the tingle that runs down her spine when Jason is pressed up near her in the cramped boat. She knows the shiver that dances across her skin when his fingers accidentally (or maybe not quite so) brush her thigh. She knows the inhuman hunger.

Her mind blanks. There is no plan for this situation. No way to proceed, because she's never considered this outcome before.

The waves rock the boat soothingly. A reassurance. The sun beats down harshly. A punishment. A seagull screams. A warning.

Annabeth stares into the fading blue of the sky, guilt weighing her chest. She hopes it doesn't kill her.

But it feels like it. It feels like it's pressing down on her harder and harder every minute, crushing her lungs, searing her skin, parching her throat. Starving her, depriving her, torturing her.

She makes herself drink a mouthful of water, but not much. She has to ration what they have. It doesn't help. The heat and the sudden humidity are choking her. Her dress is sticky with sweat. It clings to her body, trapping heat helplessly against her burning skin. Unable to take it, she picks up her knife.

Chloe had returned it to her unceremoniously a few days before her departure. It had been cleaned and sharpened, and it glimmered in the light like a jewel. Annabeth had taken it silently and tucked it away in the folds of her dress where no one—not Jason, not Calypso—would see it. Chloe had looked at her, probing her face with her sea green eyes, practically stabbing Annabeth with the reminder of _him_. Then they parted ways. No words were exchanged, and they spoke nothing of it again.

She uses the frustration of that memory to stab the tip of the knife into her dress, then taking the soiled cloth in both hands and ripping off most of the skirt. She sighs in relief. Immediately she stands, pulling the rest of it over her head. She almost laughs with the bliss, but just smiles, eyes closed.

"What are you doing?"

Oh, for a second she had forgotten he's here. He sounds panicked. Worried. She tosses the dress carelessly aside.

"Stay here," she instructs, then she dives headfirst into the water.

It feels so good she almost squeals. But she's not a squealer, so she only laughs, grinning as the flurry of bubbles leaves her lips. She twirls, loving the feel of ocean water on her skin. Instantly all the heat is gone.

"Sorry," she gasps once her head breaks the surface. She climbs back into the boat, wobbling a little, and uses both hands to wring out her hair. "I just—"

She's cut off by Jason's flying tackle—back into the water, her delighted scream the only thing of them lingering besides their clothes.

* * *

"When did you meet Percy?"

The question makes Annabeth's fingers slip, causing her to simultaneously jab her finger and drop the compass she's making to the bottom of the boat.

She bends to pick it up, face burning. "Curious, are we?" She's more than glad to hear that her voice is steady.

The sun is slowly dipping below the horizon. Cold would set in soon, but the ocean doesn't know that yet. Heat still lingers around the boat, not quite as stifling as before, but enough to make breathing hard.

Jason leans back, resting his head on his arms. He whistles softly. Abruptly, the wind blows past him and ribbons through her hair, rustling the golden locks around her bare shoulders, as if trying to make her smile, but it doesn't work. They sit in their dry clothes, the remnants of Annabeth's skirt added to their little sewed awning.

"I heard a lot about you two back at camp," he says finally, squinting up at the sky.

"Oh?" She keeps her eyes down on the makeshift compass, which is basically a needle from Calypso and a bit of cork from the stopper on their canteen. "Like what?"

"Stories," he says simply. "Something about…Thalia. And a bull." The names sound strange on his lips—they're unfamiliar to him, but they're everything to her.

She's silent for a few seconds, sore fingertips pushing the needle farther into the cork. "I was twelve," she says at last. She keeps her eyes on her work, not willing to meet his. "It'd been—" she blows out a huff of air "—five years since Thalia's death. I was stuck at camp while everyone came and went. Died and lived, while I stayed in demigod limbo. I couldn't go home. I didn't have any other relatives. Chiron kept me locked in. Luke wouldn't take me anywhere—"

"Luke?"

She stops. He doesn't know. She's so used to everyone knowing… "Another story," she says eventually. "For another time." Though she has no intention of releasing that tale anytime soon.

She sighs. "I hated it. Everyone said I was too little to go on quests, too immature. Chiron told me that one day, something would come along—my ticket out. And one night, that something happened. Chiron and I came out of the Big House and found Percy half-dead on the porch, Grover's shirt still in his fist."

She laughs a little, a bitter chuckle. "He was barely conscious, at least three broken bones, not to mention bleeding all over the place, and he still managed to drag a satyr to safety." She doesn't look up. "Apparently, his mom—Sally—had been trying to drive him to Thalia's tree, and they'd been ambushed by the Minotaur. Percy killed it with its own horn." She shakes her head. "Just a little boy," she whispers.

"They made him sound like the greatest guy in the world," Jason comments. Clearly, he doesn't agree.

"You just don't know him," Annabeth shrugs. Finally, she looks up to see Jason's raised eyebrows, prompting her to go on. "The thing about Percy is…" She sighs, trying to find the right combination of words.

"He doesn't know selfishness," she decides finally. "It's always been about everyone but him. Never once in his life has he been on his own list of priorities. When he was a kid, it was about not upsetting his mom, taking care of her at his own expense. When he came to camp, it was about pleasing the gods at all costs. It was about protecting his friends, no matter what. And the older we got, the more we noticed it.

"He would destroy his own friendships to keep you from hearing a heartbreaking secret. He would sooner cut off his arm than let you lose yours. He would carve out his heart and let Cerberus eat it, if it meant yours would go undamaged. I watched him walk into the Empire State Building during the Battle of Manhattan with _no_ intention of coming back. He was _perfectly okay_ with the possibility that he would never see his loved ones again."

She finds herself choking back tears—pain from a long-lost battle, but she presses on, much like they both did that day.

"He was perfectly okay with sacrificing himself. Perfectly okay with _dying_ as long as he got to save everyone else first. And the only time I have even _remotely_ begun to repay him for that is when I jumped between a knife and him. And that's only a fraction of what he has done for me in the past six years. For us."

The wind drops her hair. The air stills. Jason leans forward—too close. And Annabeth doesn't even feel the needle stabbing her finger when he crushes her lips with his. She doesn't even remember what she was getting at until he pulls away.

How did he end up on top of her? She puts her palm on his chest, an attempt to keep him at bay, but it doesn't help. It only sets her palm aflame with guilt.

"I can't do this," she whispers to him.

His fingers tangle in her hair, and she's afraid he's going to pull her under again, but the fingers still. "I know."

There is no light anymore—except for his eyes, like blue fire in his handsome face.

_What would it take to disappear?_ A second? A quick decision? A lifetime of guilt.

"You remind me of someone else."

The voice is quiet and soothing, but it has Annabeth and Jason balanced on either end of the boat in seconds, weapons out.

Annabeth's eyes scour the surface of the water for the source. "Show yourself," she orders, and she feels like queen again.

Except the figure rising from the water puts her to shame. Slowly, like a ghost, she glides forward. As soon as Annabeth recognizes her, the knife hits the bottom of the boat. Jason's at her elbow, whispering in her ear, but she doesn't hear.

She's a beauty, the watery figure, with hair like gold and eyes that could be jewels in and of themselves.

"You remind me of another couple, who crossed these very waters long ago." Her voice is like a song, but the words sear.

Jason looks as though he's about to speak, but Annabeth squeezes his hand hard to keep him silent.

The lovely woman rests her arm on the edge of the boat and her white cheek on her arm. "I was there when Nereus the Old Man of the sea rose from our watery depths to warn them." She trails her fingers in the water, fish popping up where her fingertips leave. She frowns. "As the story goes, they only had ears for each other. Aphrodite played by her own rules that day." Her eyes flash up. "I do hope that does not apply to this day."

"Thetis," Annabeth whispers. It's a guess, but apparently the correct one, because the woman—the Nereid—turns, studying her.

This is the mother of Achilles, the creator of Percy's curse. This is a living, breathing, extremely important factor in the Trojan War. This is a warning.

"You remind me of Helen." Thetis tilts her head. "A beauty with her own kind of wisdom. A queen in her own right. Also," her gaze sharpens, "with a loving husband and good prospects waiting at home."

Guilt's presence is suddenly unbearable. A shaky gasp drags through Annabeth's open lips. It's a wonder it manages to reach her lungs. Thetis doesn't seem to notice. Or if she does, she doesn't care.

"And you," Thetis turns her glittering eyes on Jason, "remind me of Paris." She pauses. "Taking what isn't yours."

Jason's mouth opens and closes. No sound comes out.

"You contemplate leaving," Thetis directs at Annabeth. "But you don't consider what consequences will follow. You," she throws at Jason, "think you will get away unscathed. But you underestimate the fury of a woman scorned. You both want redemption. I will give it to you."

"How?" is all Annabeth can think to say.

"You seek a war that will be sung of for centuries to come," Thetis replies. "I will take you to its place."

"Why?" Jason asks.

Thetis's eyes bore into theirs. "I mothered a hero long ago. I made him the strongest man on earth, and yet I made him the most vulnerable. I watched him make mistakes I could not right for him. I burned his very body after his death. I will not watch it happen again. And I will not let you make the same mistakes Helen and Paris did."

"Thank you," Annabeth whispers.

"Be warned." Thetis pushes away from the boat. "The grounds of war have no rules. Blood will weep. And so will you." And with that, the Nereid melts into the water, not to be seen again.

The movement of the boat is subtle, but enough to prove Thetis is good to her word. A breeze flows by—wild and free, rather than controlled by Jason. Silence befalls them, on either end of the boat, and as their eyes meet they come to a mutual understanding.

They will not speak a word of what has happened. Not Ogygia, not Calypso, not Chloe, and most definitely not their affair. If it can even be called that. Guilt seals their lips shut, and the only thing Annabeth wishes is that guilt's hold will never slacken.

She lays her head down, turning away from Jason's burning eyes, and watches the water as it pushes them gently along. She can vaguely see the outline of watery faces, gentle fingers nudging them in the right direction. Oceanids, she would guess. Nereids maybe.

_I'm coming,_ she thinks. And slowly her eyes close, falling into Hypnos's grasp, with guilt following heavily into her footsteps.


	28. Crafty

**I know, this is a crap chapter -.- I'm really sorry, but it's necessary set up. I promise the next one will be better(:**

* * *

**28/Percy**

_Crafty_ is the word that crosses Percy's mind when he looks into Caesarion's beetle eyes. Something about the older man's foxlike grin makes a sour feeling stir in Percy's stomach. He gets the feeling that though equipped with a huge army, Caesarion's attacks aren't necessarily _attacks_. He might lead you into your own trap, or turn you in circles until you don't know what's what or twist your words and use them to bind you for life. Or end your life.

Growing up, Percy had always imagined villains to be either tall and very thin (sometimes like a shadow), with a cane and a top hat, or very short and fat with a curling black mustache and a monocle. Either way, they all did villain-like, identifying things, like cackling or hiding in shadows or tying damsels in distress to railroad tracks with rope. Like every other kid, Percy wanted to be the hero that came in and knocked that villain off his feet, or saved the girl on the tracks, and he was sure that when he grew up he'd show every villain he saw who was boss.

Except, when he went out into the world for real, he learned that real villains don't do villain-like things. They don't cackle. They don't stalk you in shadows. They don't _look_ like villains. They don't always have black hair and clothes. They aren't always ugly. They look like everyone else.

And he learned that it's the ones that are beautiful and charming and helpful who are the worst. And sometimes, he welcomed the loneliness that was given him, because he didn't have to be a victim of villains if he didn't know any villains.

And he learned that sometimes, they don't mean to be villains. He thinks of a certain blonde beauty—one who has to be somewhere. And he's sure that she's one of them.

But he's definitely certain that, on some level, Caesarion is a villain. And a slippery one at that.

"Tell me your names," he orders like the emperor he is.

"Reyna Cambridge." The Roman girl introduces herself first (probably knowing that neither Percy nor Thalia would be willing), with only a small amount of pride in her tone. Percy's eyebrow shoots up, but she doesn't see.

"Reyna?" Caesarion tilts his head, gaze sliding from her blonde hair to her dirty shoes. "Interesting. _Queen_, no?" When he gets no response, he gestures to Thalia.

"Thalia Grace," the Hunter grunts.

"Grace," he muses. He snaps his fingers. "Oh, you must be Angela Grace's little girl." Percy watches Thalia's dislike for the man turn to hate instantly, but he doesn't seem to notice. "A little bird told me about that." He clucks his tongue. "A tragedy." And his eyes turn at last on Percy.

"Percy Jackson." As soon as his name leaves his mouth, Caesarion's eyebrows raise.

"You're Perseus Jackson?" he asks. He claps. "Oh, _lovely_. Now, tell me." He leans forward, giddy as a child. "Why are you here?"

"I'm guessing you already know about Gaia," Percy begins. He feels Riptide return to his pocket, and resists the urge to hold it for comfort. Caesarion doesn't seem to notice it missing from the pile of weapons before him. He just sits there, studying them, hardly even shaken from the attack.

He scoffs at Percy's words. "How could I not? It's all the old woman and her husband whine about!"

"You can hear them?" Thalia demands incredulously. Percy can sense how annoyed she is; she stands with her arms crossed, her finger tapping her bracelet. Obviously she's considering flashing Medusa's face, just to give Caesarion a heart attack.

Caesarion gives her a skeptical look. "Pontus is the sea, and Gaia is the earth. My city is at the bottom of the ocean. Their voices are _all_ I hear."

"Then you know about the upcoming war," Reyna prompts. "The seven?"

Caesarion sighs, as if this is the last thing he wants to talk about. As if it's _boring_. "Yes, unfortunately."

"We've come to ask for your support," Percy states bluntly. He's not going to beat around the bush with Caesarion. He'd rather not play his game.

Caesarion blinks. "Support?" He laughs—an outright bitter sound. "The _gods_ asking for my support!" He shakes his head. "They kill my ancestress, take over the remnants of our kingdom, damn my family to this hellish place—and they want my _support?_"

Thalia's fingers twitch, looking as though she wants to beat Caesarion into submission. Reyna is impassive save for the furrow of her eyebrows; Percy can't help but think she's a little crestfallen. He himself is disappointed, but unsurprised. It was a long shot from the start, and after actually meeting the emperor, the odds of getting his support went, well, down.

"Then if you'll be so kind," Percy says stiffly, "we'll take our leave."

The girls scoop up their weapons and follow him as he turns on his heel, determined to get out of that room as soon as possible. But with one snap of his fingers, Caesarion manages to stop that.

The doors burst open and guards flood in, surrounding them—making Percy realize that they could've done so at any second. That Caesarion was humoring them. Toying with them. And worse, that they're trapped.

"You little weasel!" Thalia's boiling with anger. "I swear to Artemis I'll skin you right now!" Wildly she darts for Caesarion, impressively dodging the first three guards, but is caught just feet from the throne and thrown down, pinned by several more.

"I wouldn't," Caesarion hums idly. "I'm the only one keeping you alive." He snaps again—a command. Slowly (and to Percy's shock), Aurelia slides from the shadows, eyes as piercing as her brother's. She drapes an arm over the back of his throne, and suddenly they are the epitome of Roman royalty. Regal, cold, and deadly.

"_Salve_, sister," Caesarion tells her. He doesn't look away from the three, simply rubs his chin.

_"Salve,"_ she replies. Her eyes sweep them.

"The last of their kind escaped, sister," Caesarion sighs. He leans back, his hand still caressing his chin. "We did not have a chance to enforce our code." He frowns. "What is our code?"

"Trespassing is death." Aurelia recites it as if she's been taught it her whole life—which, Percy realizes, she probably has.

Caesarion waves a hand. "Execute them."

Luckily, the first one they move for is Percy. Unluckily for the executioner, the blade ricochets so hard off Percy's neck it takes down its very owner, allowing Percy to seize it by the handle and send it flying into another guard. Two more charge him. He deflects the blow of the first and latches onto his wrist, yanking him into the role of a human shield as he kicks the other guard in the crotch. He falls to his knees, and Percy knocks him out with Riptide's hilt. He twists the arm of the first guard sharply, dislocating the shoulder, and drops him, slashing his leg to make sure he _stays_ down. He's prepared to take down the rest of the crowd, but—

"Enough!" Aurelia's eyes are shining bright, and her lips are parted, indicating her excitement. Her hand slips down to grasp Caesarion's shoulder, whose own hand had frozen on his chin. He too, is staring at Percy as though he's the most interesting thing to enter the throne room.

He finally moves—just a slight twitch of his fingers, and yet Aurelia immediately sinks to a crouch—to his level—leaning in so they can converse in whispers.

"Change of plans," Caesarion announces finally. He smiles, more to himself than the others in the room. "Take them to the _circenses_."

Aurelia stands. "Spread the word," she says, her eyes gleaming. "The festival begins tonight!"

The happy roar of the crowding guards is still ringing in his ears when they drag him from the room.

* * *

The first thing he does when the guards lock him in is scour the cell. It's obviously made for a person rather than an animal, but it's no cleaner and definitely no less pungent than the one he had escaped earlier. It is smaller, with a blanket or two on the floor he doesn't dare touch, and some suspicious dark stains he tries not to dwell on.

He'd taken care to pay attention as he'd been escorted down to the _circenses_. They had taken him down the way he'd come out—through the trapdoor. And they even leave straight away, to his shock. He wonders if Caesarion is handing them escape somehow.

Sighing, he sits, leaning against the cold wall. They'd disarmed him again, but he doubts they know about Riptide's tendency to return to him. Until then, however, there's nothing he can do but wait.

"This is not good, this is not good," Reyna's muttering in the cell across from him. Her eyes are wide, locked on the trapdoor.

Thalia grips the bars. "I'm going to stab someone," she growls, and Percy's glad they aren't sharing the same cell.

"We have to do something." Panic is evident in Reyna's voice; something he's never heard in it before.

"No duh," Thalia grumbles, giving the bars a grouchy kick.

"No, you don't get it." Reyna begins to pace frantically around her cell, tugging on her hair. _"We_ _have to do something."_

Uneasiness stirs in Percy's stomach. "Why?" he demands. "What's going to happen?"

She stops pacing long enough to look at him. "Have you ever heard of _panem et circenses?_" she asks.

"No," Percy and Thalia reply in unison.

"It's Latin," she says after a moment. "It means _bread and circuses_. It was a technique the Roman government used to distract the people."

"Distract?" Thalia repeats, eyebrows furrowed.

"At the time, the government was not very…valid," Reyna answers. "They often threw festivals to draw attention away from what they were doing. _Panem et circenses_ kept the public in the dark."

Percy frowns. "Wait, but Caesarion called this the _circenses_. This is a dungeon."

Reyna wraps her fingers around her bars again. "A few Romans used to call the cells where the fighters were kept the _circenses_." She bites her lip. "Usually, those Romans spent a little too much time in Egypt."

"Fighters," Thalia mutters.

"That's why we need to get out of here!" Reyna tugs on the bars helplessly. "Because the next time they take one of us out of here, chances are, we won't come back."

"They're going to make us fight to the _death?_" Percy demands.

"Like gladiators," Reyna admits weakly. "And who knows what kind of _exotic animals_ they've bought?"

They fall silent after that, each of them left with their thoughts. Reyna mutters to herself in the corner of her cell, planning something no doubt. Beside him, he can hear Thalia scraping at something, maybe trying to find a weakness in the cell. He just keeps patting his pocket, waiting for his not-so-faithful sword to reappear, and thinking of Annabeth.

If they drag him out first, he'll fight for _her_.

* * *

"You, wake up."

He's jostled back into consciousness by the toe of a boot in his side. A guard glares down at him, a spear in his hand.

"Up," he repeats harshly. He seizes a fistful of Percy's shirt and drags him to his feet. He jerks away, but is too groggy to fight back. So he remains limp as two more guards grab him by the arms and drag him to the trapdoor. And the last thing he sees before they stuff his head in a bag is Reyna's gray eyes watching him go fearfully.

He realizes that Riptide is back in his pocket. His hand inches for it, but he can hear talking—more than two voices, and he knows he can't take that many alone, so he leaves it alone. He can hear something else. The roar of a crowd? Growling? Screaming, even?

"Welcome, welcome!" Caesarion's voice booms, and Percy jumps, but as the guards force him into stillness he realizes that Caesarion must be magnifying his voice somehow. Are they outside?

"We have a special treat for you tonight!" Aurelia announces. "We have found three demigods in our midst!" A unanimous boo interrupts her. "And what is our code?"

"Trespassing is death!" the crowd roars.

"Exactly!" Caesarion calls. "And my lovely sister and I have decided to make this year's festival a special three-night event!"

"Each night, we will place one treacherous demigod with one of our finest fighters!" Aurelia claps her hands like a delighted child.

"And our first victim—I mean _opponent_—" He grins as the crowd laughs. "—is one I think you all will know!" Silence falls in anticipation, and only then does Percy truly understand the gravity of what he's about to be forced into. His palms are sweating; quickly, he manages to wipe them on his jeans, and then realizes there's something in his pocket—and it's not Riptide. He thrusts his hand in and it dawns on him. It's Annabeth's Yankees cap.

"Perseus Jackson, son of Poseidon!"

The light is blinding when the bag is ripped away, and he's shoved forward so hard he tumbles face-first into—dirt? He's confused for a moment, because there's no way he was walking on dirt. He spits out the bitter taste and rubs it from his eyes, and then he makes a horrible realization.

He's lying in an arena. He scrambles to his feet, whirling, but the wooden door he'd come through has blocked him out. Stands rise from the edge of the walled arena up to a point where he can't even make out people anymore. The roar of them deafens him.

"And for one of our own!" Caesarion shouts over the crowd, "Our very beloved Cacus!"

A door much bigger than Percy's slides open, revealing one of the largest men Percy has ever seen. Seven—maybe eight—feet tall, bulging with sheer muscle. He carries no weapons and only wears a one-shouldered tunic. When he raises his arms, the arena nearly booms with screaming.

"Your weapon of choice, Cacus?" Aurelia asks, a smile on her lips. She and Caesarion are standing in what looks to be an imperial box several feet from the edge of the arena. She's dressed in even more finery than earlier, making her look even more beautiful, but the sight of her makes Percy's stomach churn.

"Thank you, my lady, but I need no weapons." Cacus's voice is deep and booming, and the grin on his face reveals sharp, pointed teeth—like a wolf's.

The crowd screams again, and this time Percy swears he can make out what they're saying. "Burn him!" they chant over and over. "Burn him!"

"And yours, demigod?" Caesarion questions, a cocky smirk on his own face.

Wordlessly, Percy pulls Riptide in pen form from his pocket, inciting a burst of laughter from the crowd.

"Very well," Caesarion says. He waves his hand. "Begin!"

When Cacus doesn't attack immediately, Percy takes Annabeth's cap from his pocket and jams it on his head. Then, as the crowd boos, takes a wild look around the arena for some kind of advantage. He's reminded of Antaeus the son of Gaia, who ran a similar arena, but there are no chandeliers here. The only thing of use is a rack of weapons to his left.

Cacus growls and begins to circle, forcing Percy to as well. His eyes scan the arena.

"Son of Poseidon, eh?" he asks, in accented English. He grins again. "Harder to burn, but flammable all the same." He sweeps the arena with his eyes. "I saw your weapon, boy. You think a pen will save you, little one?"

"No," Percy retorts, and as Cacus lunges towards his voice, rips off the cap. Cacus's eyes widen at the sound of the unsheathing, but it's too late; Percy slices his hand off with the first swing, and doesn't stop, reaching quickly for the throat, but with a roar Cacus bats him aside.

The combination of screaming voices and stinging sand throws Percy off-balance. Annabeth's hat falls. He's still gripping Riptide in his fist, so he flips back onto his feet, narrowly missing the jet of fire that blasts close enough for heat to slap him in the face.

Bewildered, he dodges another blast and continues on his wild dance, forced to leave the hat behind, and it takes more than a few tumbles before he realizes that the fire is coming _from Cacus's mouth._

In his shock he slows, which gives Cacus enough time to cross the space between them and backhand him with enough force to propel him into the opposite wall. He thanks the gods he's still invincible, but even still, he's seeing double, and he can't decide which Cacus is which. Either way, both are trudging up, grins on their faces and newly-acquired axes in their hands. And at the last second, Percy darts between Cacus's legs, crawls out behind him and jumps on his back. Cacus swings the axe in a wide circle, roaring, but Percy just hangs on tighter. Riptide dangles in his hand—he can slit Cacus's throat right now. But Cacus has begun to spin and spin, and suddenly Percy's almost too dizzy to hold on.

But finally he raises Riptide and slams the hilt on the back of Cacus's head, and monster or not, he drops—right on top of Percy, to the amusement of the crowd. Percy struggles to get out from under Cacus's intense weight, unsure of how long his unconsciousness will last.

To his relief, Cacus's eyes only open when Percy is standing over him with his foot on his oversized chest, and Riptide's point threatening his throat.

Silence ripples through the crowd, and Percy looks up in surprise. Then, unanimously, they all give him a thumbs-down. At first, Percy frowns. Is he that bad of a fighter? But then, he hears the first "Finish him!" and he understands.

He scowls down at Cacus. He isn't sure whether he's a monster or a man with special abilities, but either way, the small eyes glint with fear. Percy raises Riptide, and to the cheers of the crowd he drives it home—into the dirt beside Cacus's head.

He holds out a hand to pull Cacus up. The little eyes dart around the arena, from the silent crowd to the emperor's stony face, to Percy's. And against Percy's own predictions, takes the hand and allows it to right him.

"Let this be a warning," Percy tells him, tapping his severed wrist. "The next time you meet a demigod in the arena, you might not be so lucky."

He turns to find the gate open for him, and, after scooping Annabeth's hat off the ground, strides out, grinning to himself with pride as Riptide appears in his pocket.

Then he grimaces, because he's certain that Caesarion won't let him get away so easily.

* * *

"You survived," Reyna breathes when he's back in his cell. He nods silently.

He waits until the guards have left them alone, then he leans forward. "I know how to get out of here." At her questioning look, he uncaps Riptide and slices through a few bars, squeezing through. He does the same for her and Thalia's cells.

"Okay," Thalia rubs her hands together. "I say we storm it and fight our way out."

Percy's shaking his head before the sentence is finished. "We don't need to. Not when we can fly." They both look at him as though he's crazy, but he just smiles and puts Annabeth's cap on his head. After scouting to ensure the absense of guards, he leads them to the animal cages—to the creature's.

She's still there, in his "protective" circle, with her head on her paws. She perks up when they come closer.

"Oh my gods," Reyna whispers in shock. She grips the bars, mouth open, eyes wide. "Where did you find it?" she demands, astonished.

Percy stares blankly at her. "You know what she is?"

"A griffin," the girl breathes, more to herself than as a response. "They haven't been seen for centuries! We figured they were extinct."

"Apparently not." Thalia says it as though she's not paying attention. Her eyes are trained on the griffon, her expression puzzled.

Percy shrugs. "She was in the crate I snuck in with. I think she's been abused before."

"She says thank you."

Reyna says, "What?" at the same time Percy says, "You can understand her?"

Thalia's sarcastic tone is trademark, but she doesn't remove her eyes from the griffin's, whose head has perked up. The neck is stiff and still. The staring contest doesn't stop even as Thalia continues. "You can understand horses, Barnacle Breath, I can understand birds. And her, to an extent." Her brow furrows. "She says her name is Nadia."

"Nadia," Reyna repeats.

"She's not very nice," Thalia remarks, wrinkling her nose. "She doesn't like me."

Reyna studies Thalia with new fascination. "Probably because you're a Greek. Ask her where she's from."

Thalia glances at her. "She can understand you, you just can't understand—oh, I'm not even going to try to pronounce that," she says, turning back to the griffin.

"What does it sound like?" Reyna asks eagerly.

Thalia sighs. "Hercule…something."

"Herculaneum?"

"That's it."

Reyna frowns. "She must have been buried in the ashes of Vesuvius."

Percy vaguely remembers something from sixth grade science class. "Wasn't that like a thousand years ago?" he asks. "Wouldn't she have died?"

Reyna shakes her head. "Griffins don't die. Well, only in some ways. Old age being one of them…but they have an elongated life span—"

"Okay, can we get out of here now?" Thalia interrupts. Percy nods, and widens the space in the bars that he'd made for himself. He steps in to jab at the unseen monsters at the back of the cell, who hiss at the Celestial bronze.

"Come on, hurry!" Thalia coaxes, and the griffin rushes out, shaking out her wings and fur.

"Now how do we get outside?" Reyna asks. Percy just grins.

Against Thalia's warning look, he hoists himself up on Nadia's back. She stiffens, but relaxes when he pats her head. "See?" he says triumphantly. "Come on." And one by one, they settle themselves in a row on the griffin, who remains impassive to their weight.

"Thalia, have her get us out," Percy commands, and without protest his cousin lays her hand on the griffin's soiled fur and closes her eyes. A second later, Nadia lunges for the trapdoor and crashes through it in one try. Alarmed guards dive out of her way as she gallops through the hallways, seemingly knowing where to go.

Percy clenches his hands in Nadia's fur and glances at Thalia, whose eyes are squeezed shut. Her eyebrows are scrunched together in concentration.

They barrel past the throne room, down a flight of stairs, and—finally—make it into an open courtyard. The Atlantians who spot them scream and flee, and Nadia's wings begin to spread, ready to fly—

When a swarm of guards suddenly surround her, jabbing at her, stabbing at her, forcing her into a corner with their chains and their weapons, bringing the poor thing to her knees. And he's just on the verge of cutting through them when Caesarion himself parts the crowd, rubbing his chin, and says, "Determined, demigods, aren't they?" He sighs. "Well, I suppose I'll have to reconsider your business proposal."

And then he grins his infuriating fox-like grin, as if the crafty bastard had planned it all along.

* * *

**I suppose I should give you fair warning:**

**I've been thinking lately, and I'm not sure I want to continue this story into the battle with Gaia. Honestly, I'm considering ending it very soon. Don't worry; if I do decide the latter, it won't be for a few more chapters, but I feel it just won't interest people anymore, plus it may just drag this story into exhaustion. I haven't decided anything yet, rest assured, but I'm leaning towads simply concluding this.**

**Thoughts?**

**~ Mia ~**


	29. Useless

**This chapter is short, but it all builds up to something more, I promise(;**

* * *

**29/Annabeth**

Useless.

As a daughter of Athena, it's her personal _law_ to keep from being useless. To a member of Cabin Six, it's unforgivable—because being useless is being stupid, which in turn is being _worthless_.

She's been called worthless enough times to never want to hear it again.

Even still, she makes herself sit there, trailing her fingers in the water and sighing every so often in sheer boredom.

Oh, she's glad for Thetis's help, sure. No doubt. Without it, she'd be dead. They'd never have made it to Greece. But because of it, she's forced to do nothing except think and think and think. Oh, and try not to make eye contact with Jason. It's harder than she thought.

_You love him,_ Thetis's voice whispers in her mind.

She jerks. Her head whips around to glance sharply at the sea goddess, who has slipped out of the water just enough for Annabeth to see her face. _What?_

The lovely face stares at her from the blue water, raising an eyebrow at Annabeth's reaction. _Perseus Jackson._

Her muscles relax slightly.

_I know,_ Thetis murmurs. _I am a goddess of the sea, but matters of the heart are not so out of my reach._ She tilts her head. _You love him too._ Her eyes flick to Jason, whistling idly and playing with the wind.

_No, I don't._ She thinks it firmly.

_Yes, you do._ Amusement colors Thetis's tone. _Not as much as you love Jackson, but enough to make you doubt. Everything, it seems._ Her eyes dance.

Annabeth doesn't answer her, and at length the Nereid slips back into the watery depths. The boat continues to move, but it's no longer a comforting sensation.

Percy, Percy. She'd be lying if she said she hadn't been thinking about him. Because, well, she's always thinking about him. Scripting out what she'll say to him. What he'll say. Whenever she starts, each scenario is happy. _I forgive you. I love you._ Then they get worse. _How could I take you back?_ And worse. _I hate you._

Then she has to stop, because if she cries Jason will see and then it'll all be for nothing. The building up the façade, the fake smiles, the composed expressions. So she stops. For a while. But then the ideas come crawling back and the cycle starts all over again.

"Annabeth?"

She jumps at the sound of his voice, poisoning her thoughts with shame. "Hmm?" She forces herself to look him in the eyes.

They're glinting, but not with fire or bravery or lust, but something more like _fear_. Except he isn't afraid of anything, is he?

"Do you think they all made it?"

She purses her lips to hide the face that she's terrified too. She tries to sculpt a response—something that doesn't give false hope, but that doesn't crush it either. Finally, she ends up with, "Percy was with them. He wouldn't let anyone…" She stops, but the unsaid word hangs between them like a disease. _Die._

"Do you think they're in Greece already?"

He can't seem to stop worrying—and it sucks, because his anxiousness added to hers is like the world on Atlas's shoulders. And it's crushing her.

"I hope." It's barely above a whisper when it passes her lips, but whether he hears her or not, his questions cease.

Hope is a curious thing, she muses. Eternal and unbreakable, they often say, yet for her, it is a weakness. In her experience, hopes only get crushed. She learned that a long time ago. So when Percy first disappeared, she tried not to let herself hope—because _what_ _if_ he didn't come back? _What if_ he wasn't the same? _What if_ it was all for nothing? But hope is also impossible to keep out, and of course hers was so miserably dashed that she could only come to one conclusion: hope is utterly and completely useless.

Just like her… as of now.

She sighs aimlessly and tries to think for the hundredth time what she'd do once she got to Greece. Countlessly she'd told herself that she'd sit down with Percy whether he likes it or not (whether _she_ likes it or not) and construct some sort of battle plan. But that all depends on what Gaia is doing.

And then, with a sinking heart, she realizes how utterly unprepared they are. Not only had they been sent off without much of a plan of action—other than land at Greece and fight. In truth, they had been promised nothing. Glory, sure. But what good is glory if you don't have your life?

She manages to convince herself the gods will be present. Even they wouldn't abandon their children to the likes of Gaia. _Even for their own skins?_ That dark voice at the back of her mind asks—her conscious. Her cursed, damned conscious, that insists on questioning everything good in the world.

Sometimes, she really hates her own brain.

_She's running. Why is she running? She doesn't stop, even as the question darts through her mind. The world around her is a blur of greens and flashes of bright colors—fruits, maybe? She doesn't pause to find out. A tree root juts out of the ground, a perfect trap, and she finds herself falling._

_A laugh echoes towards her—she blinks the dirt from her eyes just in time to see a figure disappearing in the green. Is that Chloe? Scrambling to her feet, she runs again, except this time she's sprinting._

_She doesn't realize she's calling the girl's name until she whirls around sharply, her skirts making a wide arc around her legs. Is it Chloe? Annabeth's too far to see the face—only enough to catch the shadow of a smile, and then the girl's running again, with Annabeth hot on her tails._

"_Percy, Percy, Percy!" The girl sings his name over and over, with a loving tone Annabeth can only hate. She darts forward with a burst of new energy, clamps her hand on the girl's shoulder, and then time slows. All at once, she seems to notice that the girl's skin isn't skin at all. At first she thought it was just browned by the sun but as soon as her fingers touch it it's shifty and pitted—dirt. But by the time she even begins to make the connection, she's already yanked the girl around. She sucks in a breath as her heart skitters to a near stop._

_The girl grins. "Hello, Annabeth."_

She jerks awake with a strangled gasp, so sharply that the boat rocks dangerously. Jason, his golden curls set aglow by the sun, stirs lazily.

"Annabeth?" he slurs. He blinks. "Are you okay?"

She realizes she's clutching the edges of the boat so hard her knuckles are white. "Fine," she says. It's more like a pant. She pries her own fingers off the boat. "I'm fine," she repeats. Jason knows better than to pry; he turns away to stare at the water, his hair shifting in the breeze.

Her heart's still racing. Her mind's still reeling. Because if one thing's for sure, it's that the girl in the forest was Gaia.

She turns to look in the opposite direction, trying to get her bearings, but gives a gasp when she finds Thetis's face, glistening with seawater, inches from her own.

The jewel-like eyes are amused. "We're close."

That rouses Jason again, who turns to look at Thetis with electric blue eyes. "How close?" he demands.

In response, Thetis gracefully raises her delicate chin, pointing. Simultaneously, Annabeth and Jason swivel to look.

A thick strip of land rises in the distance, rocky but colorful, and it approaches them. Quickly.

Her heart flutters in her chest, but it isn't terror or guilt or excitement; it's relief. She sits up slowly. Her bare ankle brushes Jason's softly, and a jolt goes through her, as if just for a moment she could sense his relief as well. They meet eyes for the first time in two days—_really_ meet eyes.

He presses his ankle closer to hers, and for once she doesn't pull away. She even smiles—though it's _useless_ to do so, because for some reason she knows he can see right through it. It's not for him. It's for Greece.

"We're home," she whispers.

She's the first one to vault out of the boat, right onto the sands. She trips almost immediately, but when she hits the soft beach she doesn't cry out. She laughs instead. Home, she thinks.

Sand sprays into her face suddenly. She sputters and rears back, ready to yell at Jason, but she doesn't find bare feet in front of her. Instead there are boots, thick and made for combat, lightly dusted. The legs that protrude from them are sheathed in leather pants. Above that, a bronze breastplate shines, nearly blinding her, and when she reaches the face, she blinks for fear the glare has warped her vision into seeing the impossible.

The war goddess Athena smiles wryly at her daughter down in the sand. "It's about time you got here. We've been waiting."

_We? _Could the gods have brought her an army to work with? Her hopes rise against her will and she quickly searches the scene, only to find that the _we_ Athena spoke of consists of only herself…and the black-haired, green-eyed boy behind her, looking at her as though she's a filthy fish crawled up on the beach. Otherwise, his handsome face could have been carved from stone.

And she realizes all her hopes, all her planning, had been useless all along.

* * *

**Oh, yes, Percy has made it to Greece after all - that's no mistake. All will be explained in the next chapter, as well as the reunion you've all been waiting for! The end is nigh, my readers! Just you wait!**

**~ Mia ~**


	30. Lucky

**And...voila! Here you are, a disappointingly short chapter! ...yeah I know it sucks. But it's summer vacation for me now, and these updates will be MUCH better! Enjoy!**

* * *

**30/Percy**

Luck.

One of the many things he's been deprived of in his less-than-fortunate life is luck. Well, most of the time anyway. The rare times it does appear, he views it not as a blessing like most, but as a balancing agent.

The Fates set the Minotaur on him at the age of twelve, but at least he was _lucky_ enough to be quick and small. Kronos was rampaging the earth, but at least he was _lucky_ enough to know his weaknesses. He was madly in love with Annabeth, but at least he was _lucky_ enough that she loved him back. Or so he thought.

_Lucky_ was the word that ran through his mind when, instead of slitting their throats or throwing them back into the arena, Caesarion the Emperor decided he wanted his own piece of fame, rather than continue to let his dynasty rot at the bottom of the ocean.

"You, Percy Jackson, have promise," he'd said, rubbing his chin yet again. "I'll let you leave with your life; but in return, you will give me glory."

How could he refuse?

He could feel Reyna and Thalia tense up beside him, saw Reyna's fingers twitch and Thalia's lips purse in his peripheral vision, and yet felt his own moving in agreement.

They had gotten what they came for, but the only feeling in his stomach was uneasiness as the three of them got to walk out of Atlantis not only unharmed, but fully equipped. Food, water, weapons, hippocampi to take them to the surface. As soon as the guards were out of sight, Thalia tossed her share to the water, scowling.

"What?" she'd asked as the others stared at her. "Do _you_ trust him?" Needless to say they followed suit, but decided to keep the hippocampi. They'd rather not swim to the surface.

The full gravity of what he'd done didn't hit him until Reyna murmured, "What did we just agree to?"

Her voice had resounded off the walls of the bubble and hit him like a slap. He didn't answer, and thankfully, she kept silent.

He looked up—and against his will, his heart jumped into his throat. He wondered if he was seeing things, but he doubted that, because there was definitely a figure looming over the water; warped and blurry, he could make out nothing but that it was a woman, and she had blonde hair.

His head was the first to break the surface. His heart pounded painfully against his ribs. Had she always had such cold features?

"You lived," Annabeth said, except it wasn't Annabeth—Athena simply looked so much like her daughter Percy could've kissed her without first feeling a difference. Well, except for the flame he would burst into. "I almost didn't expect you to." The goddess eyed them all with interest.

How surprised he had been to find that not only was Athena waiting, she was prepared. The others had all been standing there behind her, wrapped in cloaks. One snap of Athena's fingers and Percy's mouth had dropped. Her camp spread across the shore, terrible to behold. She did not come alone. With her was Malcolm, Annabeth's half-brother, and the armies of various deities. They made him uncomfortable; they all stared at him as if they knew who he was. Only when he heard their whispers did he realize they did.

He accompanies the war goddess to the bay on her command, with dread stirring in his stomach. Athena only calls him to her attention when she needs something—for some reason, he feels that this order will weigh much more than the others.

And it does, because his heart honestly never feels heavier than when Annabeth herself jumps onto shore. The look of sheer delight on her face makes him feel…queasy. He shoots a glare at the wisdom goddess, wondering if she's doing this just to torture him. The sharp quirk of her lips gives him his answer.

He watches Annabeth's expression closely when their eyes meet, but like his (or so he hopes), it doesn't change.

It's very difficult not to look at her.

If possible, her tan had darkened and her hair had lightened, thanks to the sun. The dress she wears vaguely reminds him of something he can't place, and he probably can't remember because it's a rag on her—beaten by sun and salt alike, torn well above mid-thigh. It's still wet, clinging to her form so every question he'd wondered about what's underneath is suddenly answered all at once.

He does his best to avert his eyes.

_Lucky_ runs through his mind again when Athena wraps her cloak around her daughter and leads her off. He doesn't glimpse her stormy eyes again. Sighing with relief, he turns—only to find that he's been left to tend to Jason.

He's not sure which is worse.

* * *

Jason seems almost nervous around him—but Percy convinces himself it's just the illness. Because obviously, the other boy had been (or still is) ill. His skin is not quite normal; it holds a pallid hue under the tan. His eyes are cloudy and a thin sheen of sweat coats him. That sweat is probably from the illness too.

They walk without a word. Somehow, even through his physical weakness, Jason manages to stand tall and proud and so utterly _despicable_ that Percy's nose almost wrinkles in disgust, but he holds his tongue.

As soon as Jason's blonde head disappears into his designated tent, Percy turns on his heel quickly (hard enough to churn the dirt). The smallest, quietest whisper of "I'm sorry" freezes him, but even a suspicious glance can't prove that the remark was actually heard, let alone came from Jason's own lips.

He turns the corner sharply, bumping into someone. His heart bounces, but then he relaxes, because once again, Athena's looks have fooled him. "Stop doing that," he snaps without thinking.

Luckily, the goddess only raises an eyebrow at the outburst. Percy bites his lip to keep himself from apologizing. "Mind your tongue," she says at last. "The last one I punished for her mouth regretted it." Sunlight glinting off her battle armor, she strides past him, only to pause. "Don't be a fool, Jackson. Contrary to popular belief, my daughter is a prize. You must win her. _Back_." And when he glances back in surprise, she's gone.

Disgruntled, he makes his way to the war tent, where—luckily—Annabeth isn't present. Instead he finds everyone else. Almost. Thalia is missing from the bunch, no doubt tending to her _little_ _sister_. Rachel is sitting quietly, not joining the conversation. Quite honestly, Percy had nearly forgotten about her. Though looking much cleaner—and, well, _saner_—than he had seen her last, her eyes are vacant, fringed by the red hair hanging in her face. She holds Orpheus's lyre in her hands. Clutches, really. Her knuckles are white. She strums the strings so softly he barely hears it, but no one could deny its presence.

"Hey, Perce," Nico greets. The others chorus the same.

"Nico says you went to Atlantis!" Leo exclaims. His eyes are like saucers; suddenly, he reminds Percy of a little boy.

Reyna and Percy exchange glances. His is questioning, hers is warning. Finally he replies, "Yeah."

It's almost painful, being bombarded with so many questions, but he can only count himself lucky that Reyna is there to deflect half of them. He wonders how a small boy like Leo can have so much energy.

"Percy?"

He whirls at the voice, because it can't be. It would be too good. Too lucky. But he's real—the satyr with the curly hair and the pipes, grinning sheepishly. "G-man!" Percy tackles him in a hug, and he feels about a thousand times better with his best friend in the room.

Grover bleats. "I need to breathe!"

Reluctantly, Percy lets go, instead settling for holding him at arm's length. His horns had grown considerably—something of which he must be extremely proud, because his curly hair had been cut to show them better, and his grin was a hundred watts. "It's good to see you, man," Percy says finally.

Grover's eyes twinkle. "You have no idea what it took to get me here!"

"Is Juniper here too?" Nico asks, before the story can start.

The satyr shakes his head. "Thank the gods, no. I managed to convince her to stay at camp until this is all over."

"So, you basically chained her to her tree?"

They all laugh, then sit attentively as Grover begins.

But as much as he wants to, he can't bring himself to listen. All he's thinking is he can't remember the last time he laughed. The last time he got to just _be_. Without worrying, without being weighed down by everything, without having lives on the line.

Suddenly, his smile freezes, because it hasn't occurred to him before—he's only getting this little slice of happiness and companionship to compensate for the fact that it's probably the last he'll ever see.

Well, he's probably going to die, but at least he's lucky enough to have friends.

For now, anyway.


	31. Love and War

**Change of plans. This will be the last chapter of Voyage of the Argonauts.**

**I just want to say I have loved writing this story, as well as seeing it grow from a five-shot into a full 31-chapter story illustrating the complicated love life of Annabeth Chase and Percy Jackson. Even through the barren days when you scarcely got an update a month, you guys have kept me going (though at a snail pace) with your prods and your demands. I appreciate that.**

**From chapter 1 to 31, you've given me your support and your enthusiasm, and for that I thank you. But with the sorrows that come with ending this wonderful addition to my list of stories - the best of them, no less - there is some relief. That you don't have to poke and prod me, that I don't have to worry about updating or keep checking my email for the reviews that have slowly dwindled chapter by chapter.**

**And so, lovely readers, I say a sad adieu.**

**I hope you enjoy the last chapter of this story.**

* * *

**31/Annabeth**

Love and War: the two masters of her life. Well, maybe not so much love anymore. But she still has war.

And gods know she's good at that.

And she makes sure her battle plan knows it too, as she scribbles and stabs and tears at it in frustration, but it just won't come out right.

She hasn't even changed; she's still wearing Calypso's dress, now in tatters. Athena had led her to her tent in silence, with only a cool kiss to the forehead as a sign of affection. A mere minute later, she'd been bombarded by the others in a never-ending stream of questions. Leo wanted to know where she was. Piper asked where Jason's tent was. Rachel smiled. Nico nodded, but kept silent. Grover hugged her. Thalia asked if she was okay. It was her who'd shooed everyone away, and though Annabeth feared the opposite, she asked no questions. She simply kissed Annabeth on the cheek, smiled, and left her alone.

She'd sat down seconds after she had left. She just couldn't take the possibility of actually thinking. So she pulled a fresh map and made herself think of something else.

It isn't working.

Her mind just keeps flashing back to the beach, the look in Percy's eyes when he saw her. Since when had his features become such a mystery?

Angrily, she sweeps everything off the table, then rips Calypso's dress off and stomps on it for good measure. Why does everything have to be so difficult? She stabs the table with her knife to make herself feel better. It doesn't. So she sits down with a blank one, pins that down, and grips down on her pencil so hard her knuckles turn white. But she blanks.

And so she thinks. She thinks long and hard. But all she's thinking about is him.

She can't seem to make sense of him, even after years wasted figuring him out. All that work was lost to Juno. What did he think, when he saw her face? Did he smile when she wasn't looking? Did he even miss her?

She used to know all this by glancing at his face. But that's gone now. She yanks on fresh clothes (thankfully, she had found a bag full of them on her cot) and reaches forward to rip the paper to pieces, but she freezes. Because she can feel him.

Mortal or not, everyone has a sixth sense. People think that it's feeling ghosts or seeing things or sometimes hearing the voices of gods—but none of that's it. It's the most important one; the one that can tell so much more than your sight or your smell or your taste or your touch or your hear. For a demigod, it can determine life or death. The feel of a presence in an empty room, an enemy behind you—even betrayal, though that one tends to be dormant, regrettably.

She's grateful for it; it's been useful to her over the years, and with it she's managed to escape death more than once. But she's never been quite as grateful as now, because at least she has a second to compose herself before his voice jars her.

"Annabeth."

At the very sound of her name on his lips, her knees grow weak. Oh, why does he have to say her name that way? Her heart pounds almost painfully against her ribs. When was the last time they had been alone without a disaster happening? She can't remember, and she's half waiting for something to happen… but nothing does.

"Percy," she says finally, but beyond that, her mouth won't move, and she's almost relieved for that, because she can feel all the secrets—all the sin—building up behind her lips. And she knows for sure if she opens them, they'll all flow out and poison the air between them. As if she hasn't done that enough already.

Calypso. Chloe. Jason. Guilt. Death. Doom.

"Are you alright?"

She grips the table hard. How is it he still manages to be the good one? How can he still have concern in his voice? Suddenly it's stuffy in the tent, and difficult to breathe. There's a hotness behind her eyes and a choking sensation in her throat, and for once, the brilliant Annabeth Chase is at a loss for words.

She senses him moving closer, until her skin tingles from his closeness.

"Wise Girl—"

"Stop."

She can't bring herself to look up into his eyes, so instead she stares at her stupid map, and watches a tear smudge it. Good riddance, she thinks.

"I have something to say," she says to the table. "So shut up…and let me talk." She holds her breath, as if he's going to disregard that, but he doesn't. In fact, the only sounds are his breathing and her voice.

"I do a lot of thinking," she says—confesses. "You know that. And sometimes, what I think gets in the way of what I feel. I—" she blows out a huff of air "—I thought you were a different person. You didn't smile, you didn't talk to me anymore, you were…closed off." She pauses. "More rigid. And I was so happy that you were home, but I overthought it, because I didn't think for a long time." For once, she struggles for the right words. "With you gone, I didn't let myself think," she settles for, finally. "Because all I'd think of was you. All I did was _feel_, and _feel_, and _feel_." Her cheeks are wet, but she doesn't wipe them away. Her fingers are clamped tightly on the edges of the table, and despite the ache, she can't unclench them. "I felt the pain, the grief and the _missing_ you—and it felt unbelievably good to think again when I found you.

"But the more I thought," her voice betrays her, trembling like she's _weak_, "the more you weren't you. And then it built up and built up and then… I made a mistake," she says lamely. Her mind creates the worst of scenarios, him glaring at her back, boring holes into her, him hating her. "And it felt wrong, not to talk to you, or be near you, because I'm the think, and you're the feel." She's crying openly now, but she drives on. "And with you gone, I had to be the feel too, and I can't…do that." Doesn't he understand? "I'm not trying to give you a sob story, I promise. But if you don't feel for me anymore, tell me. Please. So I can learn to be the feel and the think and I can move on."

She almost chokes on the last two words like they're poison, and they sear her throat on the way out, cutting off her voice, and all she can do is stare down.

"I never forgot you."

His voice is softer and sweeter than she'd ever thought, and the simple sound of it makes fresh tears fall down her face.

"From the second I started to dream in Lupa's cave, you were there." She thinks she feels hand hovering over her shoulder, but he doesn't touch her. "Little snippets of our story would play over and over while I slept and when I woke up, you were still there. Smiling at me in reflections, whispering advice, telling me you loved me." His voice nearly cracks. "You were the light at the end of the tunnel, and you helped me get home. I would be…lying if I told you I didn't feel for you anymore. That's just…not true." Her eyes burn as the tears fall. "I will _always_ feel for you."

A cracked, broken sob comes out of her, and then his hands are on her waist, turning her to him. She closes her eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry," she mutters over and over.

He brushes the saltwater from face with a gentle thumb and locks her in with an iron arm around her torso. "Look at me."

She forces her eyes open and the sight of his she almost breaks. While he's silent, they might as well be screaming.

"Everything's alright, Wise Girl," he whispers, and ever so slowly, as if waiting for her to stop him, he places a kiss on each damp eyelid. A shuddering breath escapes her.

"So sorry," she says, just before he cups her face in his hand, and seals all her secrets in with his lips.

The sensation sends a shock through her, and she stiffens. How long has it been since they kissed? And like this, no less? The only thing she can compare it to is their first one.

_Happy_ _birthday_, she thinks. And then she presses herself closer to him and kisses him back with everything she has left—all her heartbeats, all her breaths, all her grief and pain and love, and that above all else seems to ignite him.

His hands lock around her waist in an iron grip, and her own are running from his face to his hair. He hefts her up on the table, battle plans forgotten, and he tugs so hard—so urgently—on her shirt that it rips. And once his is thrown to the floor, they press even closer. His skin is smoother than she thought, and cool to the touch, while hers is burning. His muscles ripple under her fingers as she probes his stomach with eager fingers, and she shivers as his nimble ones yank at her bra clasp.

And when he picks her up and lowers her onto the cot, she doesn't stop him, because it feels _so_ _good_ to be near him again.

Her skin is on fire and her heart is racing in her chest, and as she hooks her knees around his hips and forcefully flips them—earning herself one of his beautiful laughs—she wonders how such a chaotic mess of love and war can end up in such perfection.

* * *

"Annabeth?"

She mumbles sleepily and rolls over in response. She's warm, and the cold outside her bed doesn't feel inviting.

"Annabeth, you in there? It's Malcolm."

Her eyes fly open, and suddenly she realizes she's naked. And she's not alone. And on top of all that, her brother is at her door.

One glance proves Percy's still sound asleep. He looks peaceful for once, his mouth half-open and slack with sleep, and his hair mussed. That was probably her fault; her skin heats as she remembers how much she grabbed it when… He has his hand wrapped around her leg, fingers resting on the softness behind her knee. The other is thrown over her bare back like a brace.

"Annabeth, I'm coming in, okay?"

"No!" she shrieks, just as the flap of the tent moves. "I'm— Naked!"

The flap freezes. "Oh, um." She can imagine him fidgeting. "Well, Mom called a meeting in the war tent, so…"

"Yeah, I'm coming, go without me," she calls, trying to disentangle herself from Percy and the blanket. "I'll find it!" When Malcolm's footsteps fade, she violently kicks him. "Percy!" she hisses. "Wake up!"

"Hmm?" he mutters, but he only pulls her closer, nuzzling his face in her side.

"No, Percy!" She feels like she's scolding a dog. She shoves him. "Get off! My mom's waiting!"

He rolls off the bed. "What?"

_That_ _got_ _him_ _up_, she thinks. She scrambles to find her clothes, wincing at her soreness. "Get dressed! Now!" She slaps him with her jacket when she catches him staring at her clothing-free. "Stop it!" she snaps. Despite herself (and the night before), she reddens. She pushes her Yankee's cap into his hands. "Leave after me," she orders, running a hand through her unruly curls. "Go somewhere else before you take it off and meet everyone in the master tent." She turns to the entrance in a hurry, but is stopped by his arm hooking around her waist, and she's reminded of his strength when he yanks her back.

His green eyes make her toes curl. "We're talking about this," he tells her firmly. Then he puts the cap on his head, pulls her up for an invisible kiss, and then he's gone.

And the funny thing is, she feels like he's still there.

She gets a lot of stares when she walks into the war tent. Most are already there; Thalia, Nico, Grover, Reyna, Piper, Leo, Malcolm, an auburn-haired girl she's never seen before, and…Jason.

All eyes move to her instantly.

"Um, Annabeth?" Malcolm, standing near the head of the table, looks as though someone put a complex calculus problem in front of him. Puzzled, she looks down at herself. And blanches in horror.

She's wearing Percy's jacket, her shorts inside out, and her hair is mussed. Her shoes are on the wrong feet and her socks are absent. So is her bra. She's being completely obvious.

"You woke me up," she says coolly, and Malcolm blinks.

She sits down next to Thalia, who looks at her with eyebrows raised. Piper frowns at Annabeth from across the table. "Isn't that Per—?" she begins, but she shuts up when she gets the full force of Annabeth's death glare.

The tent entrance parts again.

"Oh, hey, Percy." Malcolm looks so absolutely awkward that Annabeth wants to smack him. She makes herself seem nonchalant as she glances at Percy sliding in to the room.

"Hey," Percy replies easily. He looks perfectly alright, save for the fact that he's wearing a zip-up hoodie and no shirt. He shakes hands with Malcolm, who seems to relax, and sits next to Jason, who blinks at him.

"Annabeth, this is Julia," Nico says, breaking the silence with ease. "She helped us sway the Atlantians."

_So, this is the Caesar._ Annabeth turns her eyes on the auburn-haired girl, sitting at Nico's side—_closely_ at his side. Annabeth has read enough books and seen enough pictures to recognize her distinctive features; a Caesar she is. She's pretty, lovely even, and Nico looks at her with such a fascination that almost worries Annabeth. She smiles politely at Annabeth, but something about the glint in the other girl's eyes only makes her frown.

"Hello," she says in a soft voice. Annabeth only nods in response.

"Annabeth, Percy," Athena's voice makes everyone jump, and they all swivel to find her sitting at the head of the table—though she had not entered the tent. Her gray eyes glint. "Nice of you to join us."

Annabeth meets Percy's eyes across the table, and he _smiles_.

* * *

She's packing up her plans after the meeting, rolling them up into neat little scrolls, very aware of her mother's sharp eyes watching her. They're the only ones in the room; the meeting had lasted hours, and the second Athena had waved her hand in dismissal everyone had bolted out, with only Percy lingering behind. She'd given him a cut nod to send him on his way, and thankfully he'd gotten the message.

"You're my best daughter."

She stops, fingers freezing on the papers. She blinks up at Athena, who's smiling behind the fingers pressed against her mouth. "I try to be," she responds.

Athena reaches out to tug gently on one of Annabeth's golden curls, but though she doesn't speak, her eyes are anything but silent. Annabeth looks down. "Are you angry?"

"Angry?" Athena sounds amused. "No, dear, I'm not angry. Annoyed, perhaps." She gives something of a laugh. "You know I don't care for your choice in men, but what can I say?"

_You're_ _a_ _maiden_ _goddess_, Annabeth thought.

"Yes," her mother says simply. "But I expected nothing less. Though I resigned from the world of Aphrodite and her son, I do not require my children to do so, and it would never be fair for me to be angry about it." She brushes her daughter's cheek. "The only thing I do require is caution. And of course, your happiness." She tilts her head. "Does he make you happy, Annabeth?"

She nods. "I think so, Mother."

"Then that's all I need to know," she says with a thin smile. And with a flash of light, Athena leaves her daughter to her happy thoughts.

* * *

She wakes up choking. The second her eyes open they burn—and she realizes it's because of the smoke in the room. "Percy!" she yells, throwing herself out of bed. It's late, very late. She'd fallen asleep in Percy's arms; he'd taken to coming into her tent to hold her, or more.

"I love you," he'd sigh into her hair. She'd laugh in response, pulling him closer with an arm around his neck.

"Shut up, Seaweed Brain," she'd say with a breathless chuckle. "_Faster._"

But now he's up in an instant, Riptide in hand, and she's launching outside, snatching her knife from the ground. The smoke is clearer, allowing her to take in a breath of real air, but the dark sky is painted with orange. Orange _flames_. Shrieking and battle cries surround her, and she can taste panic in the air when she opens her mouth to suck air in.

"What is going on?" she screams.

_"Earthborn!"_

Piper's voice comes from nowhere and everywhere, and Annabeth catches a glimpse of her jumping on the back of an Earthborn, stabbing it relentlessly.

She rushes to the ridge, panic in her mind, and when she sees what lies beyond it she feels faint.

Not just one Earthborn, or two, or three. _Thousands_. _Hundreds_ of thousands, like a sea of moving earth.

"Oh, gods," she mutters.

She feels Percy take her free hand, cradling it. They meet eyes, and he grins. "Come on, Wise Girl. Don't tell me you're scared."

"I don't get scared," she replies, smiling. "Don't you know that, Seaweed Brain? Besides, I bet you I'll save your life more than you'll save mine."

His eyes shine with a familiar playfulness, a sort of battle hunger that makes her feel as though it's all back to normal. "You're on."

And with their hands entwined, they get a good grip on their weapons, get a running start, and jump.

And as they begin—ducking, rolling, stabbing, slicing—she can't help but feel safe, even when Percy grabs her and flips her backwards behind him, and idly she wonders if this is their version of love and war.

* * *

***To those of you who still care, a sequel to Voyage is not off the table. Though I would like to take a bit of a gap to look at my other stories, I am entertaining the possibility of going into detail with the battle in Greece. The only thing holding me back is my less-than-superior ability to portray such battles in an adequate way.**

**Otherwise, I hope that despite whatever I decide, you will continue to honor me with your reviews on my other 23 stories (or something, who's counting?). **

**Thank you all.**

**~ Mia ~**


	32. Author's Note

If you've come here excited and hopeful, then I'm very sorry to inform all of you that there will not be a sequel to this story. As much as I have loved writing it and getting your feedback on it all, I feel as though any attempt to continue this will ruin the ending as I've left it. Yes, I realize that there are loose ends hanging; I will allow you to draw your own conclusions on those.

I put tremendous, well, effort into this. It may not have seemed like it in the dry weeks or even months when an update was like a raindrop in a drought, but it's true. I wrote this everywhere: at school in my lap, in bed when I was supposed to be asleep, under the table at restaurants, curled in a corner at get-togethers. I know it may not seem clean and organized and perfect, but it is by far, as I see it, my greatest work. I will always cherish it, and it'll stay up here forever if I can help it.

I thank all of you for your support, your nagging, your praise, and most of all your time. Thank you for taking the time to read this. I paid attention to all the reviews I've ever gotten on this, and I am truly grateful. Honestly, I've got tears in my eyes.

Thank you, thank you, thank you from the bottom of my heart.


End file.
